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My Land. My Country. 
My Home. 


By 

Ad. Albright 


Albany, N. Y. 
1915 






Copyright, 1915 

BY 

A. ALBRIGHT 

PUBLISHED BY 

C. F. Williams & Son 

PUBLISHERS FOR A. ALBRIGHT 

All rights reserved, including 
translation into foreign 
languages 




MAR 18 1915 

©Cl A 39 8027 





To 


The women who have helped men to be 
what God Mended them to be , to your mother 
and to mine. 



CHAPTER I 


A morning in late September. 

All the day before the rain had fallen ; not swiftly, not 
slowly, just easily; not warm, not cold, just cool. The dry 
and parched earth drank it in gratefully, and in graceful 
acknowledgment the withered blades of grass, that had 
lain so long under the rays of a scorching sun, now began 
to fill and unroll and put on a darker and richer shade of 
green. Quietly, persistently the rain had continued to 
descend until the whole earth had begun to take on a very 
damp and moist appearance. 

The leaves hung heavily down from the trees and 
dripped, dripped continually: the cool, freshening rain- 
drops had stolen quietly into the deep foliage wetting the 
twigs from which the dripping leaves hung heavily, stole 
in on the branches and larger limbs, and then trickled softly 
down the great rugged trunks of the silent trees, and, one 
moving silently in and among these still sentinels of the 
woods, could almost hear the deep sighs of relief that went 
up from the souls of these stately occupants; while, at their 
massive feet, the little late wild flowers took on new life 
and beauty. 

So all the world had gone to rest soothed by the 
sound of the gentle raindrops and greatly refreshed by their 
rich moisture. 

All day the wind had blown gently from the south 
bearing upon its kindly bosom the greatly longed for rain ; 
and when all the world had retired to rest, it was with a 


2 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


silent and perfect satisfaction, and the contented feeling 
that a long and much needed rainy season was at hand. 

Now, during the silent hours of the night, when all 
were sleeping, and no one seeming on watch, a little wind- 
sprite from another quarter had risen, and impishly tried 
his puny strength against the steadily blowing south wind ; 
but, upon meeting with a very damp rebuff, turned and hur- 
ried away to some of his fellow spirits, shaking off the 
raindrops from his tiny wings in his flight: then, quickly 
gathering help from his fellows, returned to do battle in 
the dark : and so for a time the friendly encounter continued : 
sometimes the little mischievous spirits of the west and 
north winds would gambol freely over the disputed ground, 
then the good mother south wind with her spreading wet 
cloak would put them all to a hurried flight shaking her 
wet drops over them as they scurried away through the 
trees. 

Sometime later, upon one of their returns from such a 
flight, they had found no one on hand to do them battle, for 
the good south wind, now having accomplished that for 
which she had come, had silently folded her wet mantle 
about her and departed to the land from whence she came, 
leaving in her trail all sweetness and refreshing, so the little 
northwest wind now finding no resistance, in sportive glee 
had puffed and blown until the heavy cloud banks becoming 
much disturbed, ceased to drop down dampness and moist- 
ure, and with a stately dignity had folded their great heavy 
robes about them, and like an army striking camp, shoul- 
dered their tents and silently marched away to the south- 
land leaving a few drifting clouds scattered across the 
heavens, as it were, to cover their retreat. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 3 

And so this September morning. 

The sun rising over the eastern horizon had shot his 
slanting golden rays in between the leaves upon millions of 
raindrops upon leaf and blade and twig until the earth 
looked as if covered with a robe of most beautiful jewels, 
and the eye was almost dazzled by the sparkling display. 
The wind still continued to blow lightly and yet with an 
elasticity that was irresistible, which, filling the lungs and 
throat, created a feeling as of new wine being poured into 
the veins; a wine that seemed to hold in it all the virtues 
of life itself, until the mere joy of being alive and living 
filled the whole being with a most delicious rapture that was 
closely allied to pain. 

Across the clear pale blue of the Heavens a few fleecy 
clouds floated like wisps of rare lace, in pattern and delicacy 
so exquisite that mortal hand could not copy or reproduce; 
for true it is, that, like the mystery of the Divine Birth, 
there are and will be, so long as time shall last, things and 
acts that the Great Creator hath reserved to Himself, 
although the sacriligious hands of man, and often those who 
profess the Divine right of wearing the Ecclesiastical robes, 
have, like an impish and sometimes malicious school boy, 
many times endeavored to thrust aside the veil that hangs 
between the seen and unseen, the known and unknown, that 
he might thus daringly and almost defiantly enter even the 
Holy of Holies, seemingly in open defiance, despite the 
injunction, thus far shalt thou go and no farther; and still 
God is patient, and long suffering, and merciful, until at 
times we are constrained to cry out, but with a different 
feeling and meaning, How long, Oh, Lord, how long wilt 


4 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Thou continue to be patient with Thy wilfully blinded and 
persistently erring children ? 

Up from the wet earth, influenced by the rays of the 
rising sun, which shot its slanting golden rays through 
countless leaves and branches, rose an almost inperceptible 
mist, like, as it were, incense; token of the prayers of a 
thankful people who worshipped and adored in silence and 
in truth. 

A black and white woodpecker whirred across an open 
glade, sounding his rich musical guitar, and all became 
silent. The clear resilient air seemed to hold all in a flex- 
ible silence, a silence infinitely more felt than could be 
understood, causing the heart to beat more quickly and the 
pulses to throb more rapidly, as if with expectancy: sud- 
denly, from out of the leafy depths of the woods — Amelie- 
o-ree-e-e-, a little belated wood robin, that had been be- 
guiled into lingering after his mate had departed, feeling the 
expectancy in the air, poured forth his limpid call for his 
departed mate; like a thread of purest silver it floated out 
over the wonderful stillness : then a hush but no reply. 

The light breeze floated through the branches like the 
lingering notes of an .Ttolian harp, and, listening now with 
a fierce intensity, one could almost catch the notes of some 
Divine harmony. The maples reared their stately, beautiful 
heads in the clear golden sunlight, a mass of pure, pale, 
yellow gold. The beeches, clothed in robes of delicate 
brown, and the dark green of the fir trees, made a com- 
bination and harmony of color mortal hand could not paint; 
while at their feet in the foreground the scarlet sumach 
flung out his feathery banner. 

About a mile away to the west the little village of 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 


5 


Bentwell nestled at the foot of the wooded hills of Bent- 
berg, so called for their bent or circular form. The forests 
that covered their mighty breasts, after an early and hard 
frost, were now one riotous mass of gorgeous coloring of 
green and gold and scarlet and brown; a wonderful com- 
bination, which flooded by the golden light of this perfect 
September morning, thrilled the whole being with a feeling 
that was very near to awe ; and it seemed that some mar- 
velous vision had been unfolded to mortal eyes. 

Suddenly, from out the mysteriously thrilling silence 
there floated one startlingly beautiful tone. 

Oh! Listen! 

Surely that was not a mortal voice ! 

Far above the living pulsing silence, pealed out that 
single soprano note, more wonderfully beautiful than ever 
yet came from woman’s throat, and lay upon the bosom 
of the elastic air like the flight of some wondrously beautiful 
bird. 

Involuntarily the hands clench, the throat contracts and 
the breast heaves with a painful pressure. The breath 
ceases; waiting, while all about the living air seemed to 
vibrate and thrill with the wonderful melody. 

What was it? Whence did it come? 

Involuntarily the eyes turn from side to side, looking, 
seeking, — the ear strains, listening, listening, — looking, 
listening, seeking, — for what? 

Would it come again or w r as it simply a delusion called 
up by the effect of the morning, the sun, the gorgeous color- 
ing? An hallucination caused by the life and vitality of 
that wonderful breath of the morning, the lambent air, 
which flooded the whole being with its intoxicating power? 


6 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The pulses throbbed and beat upon the temples like 
great hammers. The throat ached, the tension grew. 
Would it not come again? Had it ceased almost at its 
birth? No, no, it could not be! and yet it could not have 
been mortal. 

Listen, listen. 

The murmur of the winds in the trees. 

Amelie-o-ree-e-e- the little wood robin; then, silence. 

The clenched hands loose, the throat relaxes, the breath 
returns, but the heart feels a loss. The loss as of some- 
thing that had died at its birth — Oh! Listen! there it 
comes again! that wondrously beautiful tone, and others — 
Oh! Listen! there are words! it must be mortal! Listen! 
Listen! those marvelous tones! those wonderful words! 
They burn themselves into the brain like living fire ! They 
stand forth in the radiant sunlight with a terribly significant 
meaning. And yet one cannot understand And the ques- 
tion, — what does it mean ? What can it mean ? 

The beautiful morning — the golden sunlight — the 
gorgeous scene — the wonderful silence — the Heavenly 
peace, and now over all this marvelous voice. 

Is it an angelic messenger come to earth? Listen! 
Listen ! Those words ! 

High above the breathless world as from a living 
trumpet — like the unerring flight of a bird — 

“ To Thy Holy, To Thy Holy care elected,” 
the voice sunk down through that grand cadence with an 
appeal that was heartrending ; and the eyes begin to smart 
and fill with tears. Then, like a prayer, the voice began 
to ascend with that grand supplication — 

“ Saviour, let me be protected on judgment day! ” 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 


7 


The Inflammatus ! The wonderful Inflammatus ! 

Unconsciously one leans forward and breathlessly 
listens, firmly expecting some invisible choir to respond 
with that superbly beautiful minor passage that seems to 
contain within itself all the misery of a broken and ruined 
life. 


“ On the dreadful Judgment Day, On the dreadful 
Judgment Day. 

On the dreadful Judgment Day, The Judgment, The 
Judgment Day,” 

But only silence. 

Then from out that living, suffering, listening stillness, 
for all the world seemed to be listening now, stole again 
that voice of unearthly sweetness like a golden throated 
flute. 

“ Through the loved Redeemer’s dying,” 

The tears overflow and roll unheeded down the cheek 
as we listen again for the invisible choir, but the voice alone 
takes up the strain — 

“ Let me fondly still relying ” 

then again — 

“Let me fondly still relying; 

For Thy grace and mercy pray.” 

on, on, up, up, through all those brilliant intricacies it 
threaded its way with a perfection and beauty of tone that 
was almost appalling, while the throat of the listener aches 
and aches with an unknown agony; and one listening must 


8 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


needs sob out, through the dreadful unreality of it all, — 
What is it? What is it? What does it mean? 

A moment of deepest silence, laden with mystery, 
then — Ugh! Horrible! Horrible! A string of curses, 
deep, blasphemous, loathsome: can this be the bright Sep- 
tember morning when all the earth seemed about to uplift 
its thousand golden voices in one mighty jubilant pean of 
thanksgiving to a Divine Creator? When it seemed im- 
possible that anything evil or unclean could intrude at what 
seemed to be the very Gate of Heaven itself ; and now, oath 
upon oath, blasphemy upon blasphemy, surprise upon sur- 
prise. We ask again, but with far different feeling and 
meaning, — What does it all mean ? What can it mean ? 

“ Alfred, what in do you mean by 

stoppin’ there and yellin’ your head off when I 

by the now you git along or I’ll break every 

bone in your body ! ” 

Then followed a string of oaths unfit for the ears to 
hear. 

Very quickly was heard the light sound of footfalls 
down the wet forest path and then out from the shadows 
and golden patches of the glade there came, with hur- 
ried steps, a boy. 

What pen can picture the look of sick horror upon the 
childish face? It was incredible. The childish mouth 
quivered and the face twitched with some inconceivable 
inward horror and agony while the slight boyish frame shook 
from head to foot as when a lash is applied. 

With hurried, nervous step, half run, he came out in 
the clear light of the day; was he Alfred? the wonderful 
voice? 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 


9 


No, it was not possible for that small childish frame 
to carry that almost Divinely melodious voice ; it was almost 
unthinkable ; and yet — 

(Jgh ! That other voice, it was not a voice, ’twas rather 
some demon from the black abyss of hell itself let loose and 
scattering foulness in all his path. 

But this boy was about twelve years of age, slender 
and boyish, flexible in movement, despite his present nervous 
agitation, which gave added impression of considerable 
strength. 

The head which was finely set up upon a round, boyish 
throat and neck, and splendidly shaped, was covered with a 
mass of wavy, golden brown hair, which, falling in half 
curling and waving masses over his forehead, where it had 
escaped from the worn hat which was pressed back from 
his face, seemed to catch all the golden gleam of the sun, 
as if it had found its natural home there. His face was 
slightly oval in shape with a beautifully half-rounded half- 
pointed chin, while the forehead was but medium high and 
broad ; his mouth, though now quivering and distorted with 
inward emotion, was of fine shape and showed an unusual 
degree of character, remarkable in one so young ; but it was 
in the eyes that the most remarkable feature of the face 
was centered; they were extremely large and full and of a 
gray color with a strange gleam of gold in their depths, and 
that depth, who can describe it? and now that he was labor- 
ing under much excitement there showed a glint of green in 
them, or was it only the reflection of the sunlight on the 
green leaves of the oak under which he was passing? truly 
they were the most wonderful eyes ever seen and can be 
likened to nothing less than twin stars, and at this time 


IO 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


being dilated to their fullest, with wide open lids, they 
appeared almost unearthly. 

The brows were medium heavy, a little darker than the 
hair, and like the eyes were set far apart, showing a very 
great intelligence; the ears, small, were exquisitely shaped 
and set close to the head, being half hidden by the hair, which 
was worn in a boyish, half childish fashion, half long; his 
hands and feet, bared and uncovered by his simple homely 
garments, were almost perfect in size and shape. Indeed, 
under happier circumstances this boy would have graced the 
halls of the Gods, as did Ganymede of old, except that 
where Ganymede was dark like an Egyptian, this boy was 
fair with a rich golden fairness. The smooth skin of the 
face, without spot or blemish, was tanned by the sun and 
wind and so had taken on the rich glow of a luscious peach 
hanging against the wall and ripening with its red cheek 
to the sun. 

With a light elastic step, that was now half run, he con- 
tinued on along the path where it took its way beside a little 
brook; indeed, he went almost like a young Indian, half 
leaning forward and going considerably on the ball of the 
foot, which upbore him like a fine steel spring. 

In gayer moments, when going down this path, he often 
amused himself by springing back and forth across the little 
brook in simple excess of spirits ; but this morning he pro- 
ceeded on his way, nor turned to the right or left. At other 
times he had gone, boy fashion, tossing his hat in the air and. 
as only a boy can, whistling and singing from sheer excess 
of joy. Now a sober deadly silence seemed to enfold him 
with its awful chill. 

Coming to an old rail fence, that seemed the only 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


ii 


obstacle in the way of the long path, he put his hands on the 
top rail, after a short approaching run, and leaped over as 
lightly as a bird and coming upon his feet ran now, swiftly 
as a swallow skims along, the remaining distance to the 
home of the neighboring farmer, whither he had been dis- 
patched upon some errand. 


Farmer James Beaton came out from his woodshed 
door, which was the entrance to the rear part of the house, 
scolding as he came; scolding because old Betty, his fine 
brood mare, had gotten tangled up in her stall, which neces- 
sitated the calling of all hands to help right “ the old lady,” 
as he was wont to call her; which accident had delayed 
breakfast, so he scolded about that. And now he was just 
getting out to begin his day’s work, “ a whole hour behind 
time,” so he scolded about that; but no one minded much 
when Farmer Jim, as he was best known, scolded; in fact, 
most everyone rather enjoyed hearing Farmer Jim scold, 
for he was never known to have become seriously angry 
in all his life; even Old Shep, his faithful old sheep dog, 
who now came sauntering along behind him, lifted up his 
head and emitted a prolonged yawn which ended in a very 
weary sounding y-o-w-1. “ See here, you Shep ! You shet 

your head ; don’t you be makin’ fun of me or I’ll send you 
back to the house ! ” But Shep merely trotted on ahead 
pricking up his ears as he went. 

“ What now! Cats again! You’d better let them cats 
alone or mother’ll take it out of your old hide ! ” as Shep 
darted around the comer of the house going toward the 
bam and barking as he went. 


12 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

“ Hear, you old fool dog,” said Farmer Jim as he too 
turned the corner and saw the old dog running toward the 
barn, “ W’at’s the matter with you anyway ? ” 

Down under the great spreading elm tree, that stood 
at the foot of the dooryard, stood an ancient horseblock 
that had been placed there years ago by Farmer Jim’s 
father. 

It was an odd growth found in the neighboring woods 
that had made a very servicable stepping place and, being 
extremely ornamental, had never been removed, although 
more modern and fashionable horseblocks had been in use 
for some time. 

Straight for the old horseblock the old dog trotted, 
barking and wagging his tail as he went. 

“ Here you, Shep ; what the — ” and then he stopped 
short as he came around the great tree to the road; for 
there, crouching upon the low step of the great stump, sat a 
little, forlorn figure with great staring gray eyes, still pant- 
ing from his long run across the wet meadow path. 

The old dog laid his heavy muzzle on the childish knee 
and turned his great brown eyes up to the little white face 
of the boy he loved so well, for he and the boy were old 
friends, and now the boy was in trouble and the old dog 
knew it. 

The slender boyish arms went around the shaggy neck 
of the dog and for a moment all three remained motion- 
less; then — 

“ Why ! Alfred, boy! ” exclaimed Farmer Jim. 

“ Yes, Mr. Beaton — ,” gasped the boy, “ that is — good 
morning — a — Mr. Beaton, — a — I guess I must have run, 
a — maybe, too fast,” he choked rather breathlessly, then 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 13 

tried to utter a little short laugh, which was a most miser- 
able failure. 

“ But, Alfred! ” said Farmer Jim, as he looked sharply 
into the haggard face of the child before him and now saw 
the drawn lines and white circles around the childish mouth. 
Then dropping his great strong hand on the frail little 
shoulder he said, “ Alfred, boy, what is it? What — ” 

“ Nothing, Mr. Beaton,” stammered the boy. “ Noth- 
ing,” and Farmer Jim saw how the childish throat choked 
and scraped as he tried to bring himself under control, and 
how the delicate, childish hands clenched themselves in the 
shaggy hair of old Shep’s beautiful collar, as if he were 
summoning all his strength to his aid. “ But, but, my, my, 
my father, he — a, he sent me over to get, to get some corn ; 
yes, that’s it, some corn ; he, he spoke to you about it ? ” and 
oh, the sickly smile that tried to come over that wan little 
face as the boy made another ghastly attempt to hide his 
emotion. 

“ Why, yes,” said Farmer Jim, “ yes, of course, but 
you can’t carry it, no ! no ! ” as the boy tried to protest ; 
“ no! no! I’m going to drive Tom over to the village about 
ten o’clock and I’ll bring it with me.” 

“ Oh, yes, Mr. Beaton ! ” said the boy eagerly, “ yes I 
can.” And he spoke quickly now as Farmer Jim began to 
shake his head disapprovingly. “ You see, you see I’m real 
strong ; oh, yes, I am, and you see he, he, my father wouldn’t 
like it if I came back without it, you see” — and in his 
eagerness the boy had risen and laid his small boyish hands 
upon the great strong hand of the man, and Farmer Jim, 
looking down, prepared to make a final refusal, met those 
wonderful gray eyes looking up into his with a mute appeal 


14 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

that left him absolutely powerless to follow even his own 
better judgment. 

For a moment they stood thus, the mild blue eyes of the 
great strong man looking down into the great gray eyes of 
the boy, and the man became as wax in the hands of the 
child; only a moment, then Farmer Jim turned abruptly 
toward the corncrib and said something under his breath, 
no matter, gentle reader, what, only it wouldn’t look well 
in print, and coming from such a man as Farmer Jim it 
would sound a great deal worse. 

“ I’ll hold the sack for you, sir,” said the boy, trotting 
along side now, with the old dog running on ahead. 

“ You’ll go right up to the house and get a big fried 
cake, sir! Guess I know what boys of your size need; 
Henry’ll hold the sack,” said Farmer Jim gruffly, or at least 
as gruffly as he could. 

“ But I’ve had my breakfast, and, and really I couldn’t,” 
stammered the boy, and then Farmer Jim said some more 
things. 

Reaching the corncrib the corn was soon sacked and 
as they came out of the open door Fanner Jim lifted the 
heavy sack of corn and laid it upon the small slender 
shoulders of the boy very carefully, half expecting to see 
him go down under the burden. 

Dear reader, have you ever come upon some slender 
stemmed plant, or sapling, and in idle playfulness laid a 
weight upon it just to see it sway and bend from side to 
side as if it would free itself from the hateful burden? 
Well, so this slender childish form swayed and bent from 
side to side for a moment, then gradually straightened and 
gaining his poise the boy moved off with his burden. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 15 

A few minutes later, when he was well along on his 
way, good Mrs. Beaton came down toward the sheep pen 
where were a couple of orphaned lambs which she was 
bringing up, as they say, by hand, and happening to look 
down over the meadows and distant glowing woods when 
her eyes caught sight of the moving figure of the heavily 
laden boy. 

Dropping the basin of warm milk that she carried in 
her hand she hurried toward the barn calling as she went, 
“Jim! Jim Beaton! Jim!” 

“ Yes, mother,” said Farmer Jim, coming toward her 
from the corncrib. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Look yonder ! ” said she, pointing excitedly in the 
direction of the boy. “ What’s that going over the 
meadow ? ” 

“ Oh,” said he quietly, “ that’s Alfred Raymond.” 

“Alfred Raymond! and what on earth’s the child got 
on his shoulder ? ” said she. 

“ A sack of corn.” Farmer Jim spoke as quietly as he 
could, for he too was more moved than he cared to show. 

“A sack of corn!” cried she shrilly, “Jim Beaton! 
and do you mean to tell me that you let that child lug that 
sack of corn all the way home, and you planning to drive 
over to the village? Here! — ” and Mary Beaton, her face 
flushed, her eyes flashing, started as if to follow the boy 
and call him, when her husband laid his hand on her 
shoulder, saying kindly, “ Easy mother, easy.” 

“ But, Jim ! ” protested she, “ that child ! ” 

“ Yes, mother,” said he, “ I reckon I feel pretty much 
the same’s you do, but I mistrust strongly John’s drinkiir’ 


i6 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

agin, and I wanted to bring it over, but the little shaver 
was so distressed, and ’twould only make a bad matter 
worse, en so I had to let him go.” And Farmer Jim 
dropped his head as a dark flush mounted to his face. 

Mary Beaton turned away the tears streaming down 
her sweet comely face as the iron entered deeply into her 
soul, for hers was a childless home, and she and Jim Beaton 
loved this child with all the wealth of their great souls, and 
yet, in the face of this they were compelled to stand, abso- 
lutely powerless and watch a childhood slain, an early youth 
foully murdered, and shuddered as they looked forward 
and wondered what the coming years would bring. 

Meanwhile the panting, overladen boy staggered along 
his way, his slender body bending slowly lower and lower, 
his breath beginning to come in long gasping sobs ; the damp 
moisture covered his face and neck and the wet hair clung 
to the skin wherever it chanced to touch. And now the 
fear began to grow upon him that he would not reach the 
rail fence before he would be compelled to let down his 
load. And if once he let it down how would he ever be 
able to lift it up again? Vainly he looked around for some 
friendly stone or stump. Nothing. The load was becom- 
ing heavier with every step. 

Clenching his teeth, as the breath hissed in through 
them to the painfully aching throat and chest, he wrenched 
his little aching back into a more upright position and hur- 
ried forward. He was almost there. Could he reach it? 
Yes, he could see the top rail now quite clearly. One more 
wrench upward. Hurry, hurry, yes, here is the fence ; now 
slowly, carefully, turn around and bend down so as to lift 
the bottom of the bag up, there, back a little, slowly, care- 


My Land . My Country. My Home. ly 

fully, let down, — did it miss? Yes, and he must try 
again — No, it did not! Easy, there, it rests on the 
friendly rail, as carefully balancing it the almost exhausted 
boy, crouching, stepped out from underneath; but, oh, the 
agony of the reaction. Almost it seemed as if a hundred 
knives were plunged in that little quivering back all at once, 
and for a moment everything began to grow dark about 
him ; but gripping the sack with a firm hold he braced him- 
self against the fence, and soon the blood resuming its 
natural course the air began to clear and the intense pain 
and nausea soon abated. After a little he felt much better ; 
the trouble was the boy had not been able to get his second 
wind, and a very few feet more would have laid him out 
insensible and possibly dangerously injured. 

For a few minutes he stood there, the crushed shoulders 
and chest expanding under their new found freedom, draw- 
ing in great draughts of the freshly cool and sweetly in- 
vigorating air. The crushing load, which so shortly before 
had threatened to bring ruin and confusion, had served to 
relax the tension on the childish mind and brain, and the 
extreme overexertion caused the rich young blood to go 
bounding freely through the young body, bringing in its 
train a brighter and more hopeful outlook, so that the boy 
now began to look out upon the day with a more cheerful 
heart. 

The beautiful gray eyes glowed and sparkled with a 
rich purplish light and at every turn of the head the golden 
glow from their wondrous depths seemed to burn with an 
almost unquenchable fire as they caught the glancing rays 
of the rising sun. The damp, curling hair clung to the moist 
skin with a loving carressing touch, while the rich red blood 


18 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

coursing now freely showed through the clear, sun-tanned 
skin, giving a most exquisite coloring to the face. 

The lips, freed from the unnatural tension that had 
bound them when he first came into view, were red as the 
heart of a pomegranate and most bewitchingly curved, and 
now parted, showed the white even teeth back of them. 
Altogether it was a face of more than ordinary beauty. 

After his short refreshing rest, with hope beginning a 
new song in his heart, for true now as when it was first 
said is the saying that, “ Hope springs eternal in the heart,” 
he carefully balanced the sack of corn upon the fence while 
he climbed over, being cautious to not let the sack slip from 
its place; for well he knew that once it should come to 
the ground he could not possibly lift it up again. 

Upon getting safely over to the other side he slowly 
worked the heavy sack toward him until only a small part 
of it rested on the top rail, then turning round he lifted the 
heavy end with his two slender hands and arms as high as 
he could, and bending slightly down he began to work his 
way backward under the heavy grain ; then letting it down 
carefully, he adjusted it as best he could, until, becoming 
satisfied, he slowly lifted himself straight and the heavy 
load swung clear of the fence. 

For a moment he stood, straight as a young sapling, 
then drawing in a deep, full breath he started off on the 
remainder of his journey, all uncertainty gone, for he had 
gotten his second wind; and now nothing daunted he went 
with a new resolution and courage. And the question arises, 
how will it be in the battle of life? Will he stand thus 
when the fierce storms of opposition and all their accom- 
panying train beset him as firmly as he does now? And, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 19 

having gotten his strong second wind, will he step out as 
courageously and fearlessly as he does now? 

On, up along the path that ran adjoining the little 
singing brook, the boy pursued his sturdy way, turning at 
length off to the left where it led through the woods through 
which he had come singing so short a time back. Soon 
the path emerged from the wood upon the south side and 
continued alongside almost until it reached some small out - 
buildings adjoining a small barn. Coming around these he 
made his way to the open barn door, where, with a sigh of 
relief, he let the sack slip from his shoulder to the floor 
with a dull thud; a man who was busied with the horse 
in an adjoining stall came through a small door into the 
main barn; he might have been forty years of age, large, 
strongly built and dark, as could be seen as he came forward 
toward the door where the boy had stopped but a moment. 

“ Well, d’you get back ? Seems to me y’wuz gone a 

of a while.” 

The boy looked down but made no reply. 

One look into the face of the man and the whole miser- 
able story was told; the puffed cheeks, the thick lips, the 
bleared eyes, by one word; rum. As the boy remained 
standing motionless, he continued, “You git to work in 
that garden.” Then, as the boy started off, he called after 
him, “ Nuther thing, you won’t have anything t’do with 
that pepogram down t’church ; hear me ? ” 

The boy stopped short and wheeled as if shot. The 
great gray eyes were distended to their fullest extent. The 
boyish face, from which every vestige of color had fled, was 
now gray like ashes and took on a pinched and drawn look 
as if untold years with all their agony had suddenly rolled 


20 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

across it leaving it looking wan and old. The dry stiffen- 
ing lips opened as if to reply as the hands unconsciously 
lifted in mute appeal. 

“ Shut yer mouth ! ” came the brutal reply to that 

silent agonized appeal. “ 'Fyou’n that pack at the 

meetin' house think you can fool me any more yer 

mistaken, Ve had all I'm goin' t' 'v your yellin' 'n 

screechin' around here, no more 'v it fer me! You'll git 
t'work 'n help me. G'wan en shut yer head, 'n git that work 
done." To which was added a string of bitter, stinging 
oaths. 

With widely staring, unseeing eyes, the boy turned and 
half stumbled toward the garden, which lay a short distance 
from the small house near by. Making his way quietly 
through the little gate he sunk down to the work before him. 
Through his numbed brain the full import of those horribly 
cruel words gradually settled, and as their full meaning was 
borne in upon his dulled senses his soul sickened with an 
awful dread. What! Not sing in the great concert? Him 
of whom so much was expected? Who had looked forward 
so eagerly? Who had worked so hard? Who had been so 
happy and joyous in expectation? When not even stinging 
curses, sneers, and brutal unkindnesses could quench his 
bright youthful ardor, and most of all, that golden night- 
ingale in his throat. How often after just such lashings as 
he had received this morning, had he stolen away to some 
secluded nook, and when assured that no one was in hear- 
ing, he had felt that sweet pain in his throat; that happy 
ache in his little chest, and, lifting his face to the heavens 
above him, those liquid tones that must have rivalled those 
of even the angels themselves came rolling forth, and would 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


21 


not be quenched. And all the world was bright and full of 
radiance again; for youth is ever full of hope and will not 
remain cast down forever. 

John Raymond had always been unkind to this boy, 
why, only himself knew ; but then he, Alfred, had not cared 
much, for was there not mother? And so long as mother 
was there, what did all else matter; and, too, the little 
sisters. Of course father was often like that and at times 
it was so hard, but there was always the beautiful bird in 
his throat, and again mother, so the rest did not matter. 

But this was different. Never before had his father 
forbidden him to sing. The cruel, brutal words beat upon 
his little weary brain with terrible meaning. The little 
childish frame shrunk together as if suddenly scorched with 
a fierce resistless flame of bitter fire that had left everything 
blackened and desolate in its wake. The great gray eyes, 
dulled and leaden now, looked down unseeing while the 
weary hands mechanically performed their task. All about 
seemed dark. No sun, no sky, no brightness. Over him had 
settled a pall of horrible blackness and desolation. And the 
pity of it was that this child, for he was yet scarcely more 
than a child, was forced to swallow this bitterest of cups 
to the very dregs, alone. 

Once or twice a woman had come to the house door and 
looked toward the garden, but seeing the boy so intent upon 
his work had returned to her own household duties. Know- 
ing the condition her husband was in and thinking that 
doubtless the boy had been given some allotted work to do, 
was anxious to finish; particularly as when once a little 
golden haired tot of about two and one-half years of age, 
came trotting to the door and in her baby pipeing voice had 


22 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

called, “Aw-fwed,” but receiving no reply, had trotted back 
to the mother saying, “Aw-fwed bizzy;” she had not dis- 
turbed him; and so the mother remained in ignorance of 
the affair. 

Later she came again to the door and gazing intently 
at the crouching figure she called, “ Boy, come now, it is 
time to get ready for school.” And as he had always been 
prompt and obedient, she did not wait for him to respond, 
but returned to prepare his lunch, so did not notice that 
for the first time, the cheery, “ yes, mother,” failed to greet 
her. 

Slowly the boy lifted his heavily hanging head and 
looked around with dull unseeing eyes. Years seemed to 
have rolled over him since he had turned in at the barn 
door with his heavily laden shoulders and happy singing 
heart, leaving him feeling old and weary and worn. Me- 
chanically he brushed the dirt from his hands and clothing 
and made his way to the little wooden wash-bench around 
the corner of the house. In the same dull, heavy way, he 
washed his hands and face, bathed his feet and went inside 
and up the stair to his little room. Taking off his working 
clothes, and as he had always been taught, hung them up in 
their place, put on his school suit, which was his second best, 
then covered his feet with his shoes and stockings. In the 
same dull, heavy way he descended the stairs. 

Margaret Raymond noticed that the boy had gone 
quietly up to his own room, but knowing as she did, that 
her husband, being under the influence of liquor, would, as 
he had done so often before, have some detestable thing to 
say or do to the boy, and while she looked forward with 
dread to the day when a breach must come, yet felt safe in 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 23 

the belief that on account of the tender years of the boy 
such a day was yet far distant; and so, believing silence to 
be the best means of dealing with the threatening and daily 
growing menace, had refrained from speaking openly. Now 
she waited with some degree of foreboding as she heard his 
heavy footsteps descending the stair; and as he came 
toward her, his back being to the light, she did not at first 
see his face plainly; but her quick, loving eye took in at a 
glance his disordered hair, and by way of opening conversa- 
tion, said in her sweet cheerful way, “Why, Boy! You’ve 
forgotten to comb your hair! ” 

Alfred put his hand to the bright, golden mass in a 
dazed, stupid way, as his mother hurriedly brought the comb 
and began to straighten out the tangled locks. As her hand 
touched his face she felt the cold, almost clammy, feeling as 
of something dead, and with a start of surprise she turned 
his face to the light and for the first time saw the wan, 
daggered look that rested there ; the look of dull misery that 
dwelt in those wonderful eyes. 

“Alfred! Boy! What is it?” she exclaimed. “Are 
you sick ? What has happened ? ” 

She saw with sharp agony the painful effort the boy 
made to reply. The rough scraping of the throat at the 
words, “ No, mother.” Which seemed to almost choke 
him. 

“ He, he did not strike you ? ” she cried sharply, then 
caught her breath as she saw a dull angry red steal up over 
the ashen-gray features, and a red mist seemed to float 
before her eyes for a moment ; but the boy shook his head. 

“Then what is it? Tell mother.” Anxiously she 
waited as the beautiful golden head dropped against her arm 


24 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

for a moment. Then in choking, broken fragments, 
“ He he said he said ” 

“Yes, Boy, what did he say?” and the arm of the 
woman went around the slender shoulders of the deathly 
quiet boy. 

“ He said ” went on the dull monotonous 

voice, “ he said that I ” There was a 

long pause, yet she waited. “ that I could not 

sing at the festival.” 

“ Could not ! ” Her voice rang out shrilly. “ Could 
not sing at the festival ? ” But he was going on in a whisper 
now, and she must stoop low to hear the choking, broken 
words that betokened a child heart breaking. 

“ He said I could not and you know ” 

Again that awful choking sound. “ you know 

what that means.” 

Margaret Raymond clasped that broken-hearted boy to 
her in a fierce embrace. Her head came up like a tigress 
at bay ready to do battle for her young. Her brown eyes 
blazed with a deadly light. Never before had she been so 
aroused. Her nostrils quivered and dilated as the color 
slowly receded from her face, leaving it colorless as marble. 
One moment she stood thus, glorious defiance in every line 
of her splendid body, in every feature of her rigid face; 
then as she gazed about her, the helplessness of her situa- 
tion bore down upon her with terrible force. 

The silence was unbroken save for the prattle of the 
two little baby girls in an inner room. 

At the entrance of one of our beautiful parks stands a 
magnificent group in bronze. The deadly ball of the hunter 
has found the heart of the lioness mother. Two baby cubs 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 25 

are tumbling in sportive glee over the dead body, while 
towering over that pathetically silent form stands the lion. 
Rage, defiance, revenge, perfect helplessness blended in the 
most pathetic picture ever looked upon by mortal eye. And 
at that moment Margaret Raymond understood as she had 
never understood before. 

Slowly her arms unclasped them from the boy. Slowly 
the rigidity died out of her body, and reaching down, she 
placed his lunch box in his hand and set his hat upon his 
head. Mechanically she pushed him toward the door. 

Just before he passed through she put her arm around 
his neck and pressed his little cold face to hers. She did 
not attempt to kiss him. She held him thus for a minute, 
then, unconsciously, the words, “ Mother will find a way,” 
fell from her lips as if spoken by some other voice; then 
she released him and he passed out, into his first Gethsemane. 


26 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


CHAPTER II 

John Raymond and Margaret Rathmore were children 
of Quaker parentage; twelve years before the opening of 
this story they had moved to their present home near the 
village of Bentwell from a distant part of the country, the 
boy Alfred being a baby at that time. 

John had been a surly, morose sort of a fellow and 
seemed to take an unnatural dislike to the beautiful child ; 
and the more the people of the little community learned to 
love the gentle little fellow, the more his father seemed to 
dislike him until at times that dislike seemed to grow into an 
almost unnatural hatred. 

During the first few years of their residence in this 
place he had not shown his disposition toward the child so 
openly, but frequent trips made to the village tavern had 
soon put him in an indifferent mood to the opinion of the 
good people of the community although he still stood a little 
in awe of Farmer Jim Beaton and particularly of his wife, 
for good Mary Beaton was not one who was slow to speak 
her mind, particularly where the boy Alfred Raymond was 
concerned, for very shortly after John and Margaret Ray- 
mond had gotten settled in their new home she was driving 
old Betty, who was young Betty then, to the village, and 
chanced to come along just as Margaret Raymond came 
into her front yard with her babe in her arms. 

Now if there was anything that would catch Mary 
Beaton’s heart and soul, it was a baby, and that no little 
lives came to bless the big old Beaton house, only intensified 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 27 

her great love for children; so she drove right up to the 
gate and climbing out of her wagon, tied her horse to the 
fence and walked in. Half way up the path she came face 
to face with a beautiful, brown haired, brown eyed woman, 
dressed in a neat print house dress, immaculately clean, 
and tastefully made, carrying in her arms a babe of about 
ten months of age. With a sweet smile upon her comely 
face, Mary Beaton went up to the stranger, and, holding out 
her hand, said, with all the frankness of her splendid 
nature, “ I am Mrs. Beaton. I have wanted to meet you, and 
when I saw you here with that blessed baby, why I couldn’t 
stand to wait any longer.” 

“And I am Margaret Raymond,” said the stranger, as 
she took the warmly proffered hand of her neighbor. “ Will 
you not come in?” Her manner, simple, unaffected, was 
graciousness itself. 

“ No, thank you,” said her caller, “ Jim wants some 
fixings from the store and I wanted to see your baby.” 

“ Will you not sit here then ? ” said her hostess, motion- 
ing to a low garden seat. 

" I will ; thank you,” said Mary Beaton, seating herself, 
“ but please mayn’t I hold your baby just a little? ” reaching 
out her arms as she spoke. 

Margaret Raymond looked into the face of the older 
woman, and seeing the yearning, the longing expressed there, 
read the soul of the woman before her ; all of its heartaches, 
all of its longing, all of its disappointment and, without a 
word, laid the smiling child into her arms. 

For a moment Mary Beaton sat as if spellbound. Up 
to the present she had not looked closely at the child, being 
satisfied that a child was there, but had been taking more 


28 My Land. My Country . My Home. 

notice of the mother, but now, as she gazed down into that 
beautiful baby face, and into those deep, almost fathomless 
gray eyes, she felt almost as if she were in some other 
sphere of life. For some moments she did not move, then, 
with a quick intake of her breath, she raised the little form 
in her motherly arms, bowing her head until her face rested 
against the velvety cheek of the child. As she felt that little 
pulsing body pressed against her heart, and that little soft 
baby cheek pressed against her own, her eyes filled with hot, 
burning tears, and Margaret Raymond, looking at that 
bowed head and those tears, saw and understood. 

The older woman after a few moments handed the child 
back to his mother, but she made no move to kiss him ; and 
now the tears came into the eyes of the younger woman, as 
Mary Beaton leaned forward, and putting her two hands 
together, lifted the little cherubic hand that was outstretched 
to her, first touching it to her forehead, then left a kiss upon 
it light as a flake of snow. 

Thus did Margaret Raymond and Mary Beaton meet, 
and the silent bond then formed was never broken. Thus 
did Mary Beaton and the boy Alfred Raymond meet, and 
the love she bore him never dimmed this side of the grave. 

Years passed on ; the toddling child, then the little boy, 
then the school-boy. That his father bore no love toward 
him did not seem to aflfect him. In some things he was a 
strange child. Those who cared not for him he did not care 
for. His mother was always first, in fact, there were times 
when it would seem that she was almost God to him. For, 
in some ways, Margaret Raymond was a very strange 
woman. That she was a Christian would be hard to doubt ; 
yet no one ever heard her take the sacred name upon her 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 29 

lips. While she never attempted to teach the child aught of 
Holy Writ, in some indefinable manner the Divine Re- 
deemer was an ever present fact, the Great God a Reality, 
and the Bible, a truth. Between the two the father’s name 
was never mentioned. The father never discussed. That 
he had his mother was all sufficient for him. Strange? 
Yes, I agree with you. But remember, dear reader, that 
boys are strange things, and I know of but one thing that is 
more strange, and that is a mother. When you can fathom 
and analyze a mother, then I will agree to fathom and 
analyze a boy. 

The wonderful fortitude displayed by his mother, as 
daily she bore the heavy burden imposed upon her by the 
dissipation of his father was to him a wonderful example 
and daily he grew more like her. Do not think that because 
of these things he was not like any average boy, for he was. 
When out from under the shadow that rested so heavily at 
times upon his young life he was just as bright and merry 
as any boy that ever lived. His great safety lay in the 
wonderful voice that very early developed, and an almost 
mechanical perfection of ear. 

At a very early age he would catch a tune and sing or 
whistle it with an absolute perfection that was startling. 
And, innumerable almost, as were the times, when coming 
from the hands of his father, after having received as 
vitriolic an attack as a drunken man’s malignant tongue 
could possibly administer, when it seemed as if his very soul 
had been flayed and scorched by the cowardly attack, he had 
escaped to the solitudes, and then the golden bird in his 
throat had beat and beat upon his heart, and he had only to 
lift his face to the heavens when forth would gush those 


30 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

glorious tones that would not be suppressed and chase away 
every cloud and sorrow. 

When his little sister was born, it seemed that the 
wonderful bird in his throat must burst its bonds and show 
itself to all the world, he was so happy. Would he ever 
forget that day ? He did not think so ; he had been at school, 
and all the way home, you see, there had been the boys 
who came part way his way home. Such running, such 
merry laughter, such games of leap-frog, such strife to see 
who could leap over the highest rail fence, and then the 
tumble he had received which had “ just knocked the wind 
right out of him.” Oh, how they had all laughed when it 
was all over and they said he “ grunted so funny.” 

Then they had gone their way home and he had come 
on alone, and when he had reached the top of the little hill 
he had stopped, and then he had seen the little house where 
mother was ; why, he could see way down the road, clear to 
Mr. Beaton’s, and he was sure that that must be Shep going 
up the path from the barn to the house. 

Then he looked again at the little house at the foot of 
the hill, and there came that little achy feeling in his throat, 
and he lifted up his little face and those lovely notes just 
came, “ you couldn’t help their coming, then you waited, 
for you know, when mother heard that, why, she just came 
out to the gate, and she waved her hand just like mothers 
do, you know ; and then out would come some more of those 
lovely sounds. You just couldn’t help it; you know, you 
felt so good inside; it just had to come out, for if it didn’t 
you couldn’t always tell what might happen, but out they’d 
come, and oh, you felt so good, and then you’d just grab 
your hat off with one hand and your dinner basket in the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 31 

other, and how you’d run, lickety cut, and if there was a 
spoon or a dish that rattled, why you’d just run harder than 
ever, for that made you feel better than ever, and when you 
got to the foot of the hill where you could see plain, then 
you could see that smile on mother’s face, and you could 
hear her say, ‘ Boy, Boy, don’t run so hard ! ’ and you’d say, 
‘ Sho, that wasn’t running,’ and mother’d put her hand out 
and push that hot hair back off from your face and oh, her 
hand felt so good.” 

Mothers of all lands and nations 
Will you ever, ever learn, 

How for you as for no other, 

Boyish hearts so often yearn? 

With a wordless, nameless longing, 

That remains all unconfessed, 

While the cares of life come thronging. 

Still remain all unexpressed. 

And e’en on thro years of manhood. 

Till life’s sun sets in the west, 

At the last, ’tis then we would 
Lay our heads on her dear breast 

But that day mother had not come out to the little gate 
as usual, so you called again; still no answer. That was 
strange, you could not understand. Then you started down 
the hill more slowly, there she was coming around the corner 
of the house now; what a hurry you had been in; why 
hadn’t you waited ; but, but, that wasn’t mother, you could 
see now quite plain; that was Mrs. Beaton, and now she 
was waiting at the gate ; you could not understand ; of course 
you liked Mrs. Beaton, yes, next to mother you liked Mrs. 


32 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


Beaton more than anybody else, but, but of course she 
wasn’t mother and you were troubled, so you rushed up 
and almost forgot to speak as mother had shown you how, 
you were so anxious, but Mrs. Beaton, she just smiled just 

like she did but you couldn’t wait, you wanted to know 

where mother was, and “ why hadn’t she come out ? She 
had never failed to come before.” 

And then Mrs. Beaton had taken hold of your hand, 
and you went and sat down upon the garden seat, and she 

began to tell you a story ; the story of a little boy and 

he lived all alone, that is with his father and mother, and 
he didn’t have anybody to play with, that is, no little brother 
or sister ; of course he sometimes came and played with an 
old dog named Shep, but then Shep he was only a dog, and 
you couldn’t play with him like you could with a real little 
brother or sister for when you wanted to play hide and 
seek, why Shep wouldn’t play seek, good ; he’d always come 
before you was ready and hunted you up, and when you 
wanted to draw Shep in the cart ’twas such hard work to 
get him all in, for when you got him in in front he was 
coming out behind, and when you got him in behind he was 
beginning to spill out in front, and ’twas such hard work for 
a little boy; and when you got him all in, real good, and 
started to draw him around the yard, he just up and all 
rolls out, and then he jumps up and runs and barks, and 
goes on as if it was all a great big joke, and then this little 
boy he just sits down in the cart, and looks so tired, and so 
dirty, and so discouraged, and Mrs. Beaton says she knows 
that that little boy must wish that he had a little brother or 
sister to play with, for they wouldn’t hunk up before he was 
ready, neither would they jump around and bark when he 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 33 

wanted to draw them in the cart ; and then Mrs. Beaton 
looked at you with such a funny little look in her eyes, and 
you felt, oh, you felt as if your breath was all gone, and 
you wanted to laugh, and you wanted to cry, both at the 
same time, and you couldn’t do either, and then, somehow, 
I don’t exactly know how ’twas, but somehow, the next 
thing you know you had your arms around her neck and 
she was holding you so tight, — and then she rose up and 
carried you way in the house, and way into mother’s room, 
and there on the bed with mother, was the littlest, teeniest, 
weeniest baby you ever saw ; and mother turned to you and 
held out her hand and said, “ Boy, Boy,” and then Mrs. 
Beaton took that little bit of a teeny, weeny baby up and 
you went and looked at it, and you didn’t know what to 
say, and finally you said in a whisper, “ Can I touch her? ” 
And Mrs. Beaton put that little bit of a hand in yours and 
it just grabbed right hold of you by the thumb and it held 
so tight, and you had such a trembly feeling all over you; 
by and by you went over to the bed to mother, and you 
bent down and whispered in mother’s ear, so low that even 
good Mrs. Beaton could not hear you, for you were just a 
boy, you know, “ Wasn’t God good, mother, to bring me a 
little sister? For that’s just what I wanted.” 

Then you went out of doors and everything looked so 
different that you hardly knew it, and after a little while 
you remembered, there was one spot down in the woods, oh, 
it was such a queer, loney spot that no one knew of ; you 
found it one day, quite accidentally, ’twas just like a — just 
like — yes, that was it, ’twas just like a church ; you see you 
had those funny little shivery feelings, just like you have 
when you go into a church, and everything was so still, and 


34 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


you didn’t want to talk out loud, for if you did you’d dis- 
turb something; I don’t know just exactly what it was, but 
you felt you musn’t disturb it ; so you slipped away quietly 
to that little hidden spot, and this time when you went in 
there came all over you such funny little prickery feelings ; 
and you went and sat down by the big chestnut tree, and 
all at once the trees began to move and whisper, and you 
listened, oh, how you listened, just trying to hear what the 
trees were saying, but somehow you couldn’t quite make out. 
And that wonderful bird that was in your throat, it kept so 
still, only once in a while you could feel it nestle up close, 
and once or twice you could just hear it croon, oh, so soft 
and low, like, oh, like a pigeon, and you felt as if you hardly 
dared to breathe, you wanted so to know what the trees 
were saying ; and pretty soon a little finch came and sat on 
a little low limb, near by, and she looked at you with those 
little beady black eyes, and turned her pretty little head, 
oh, so many ways, just to see if you looked all right; and 
then she looked right straight at you, and you looked right 
straight back again, and pretty soon she said, in a little 

plaintive voice, “ Ba by, ba by,” and all the trees 

seemed whispering it all at once, and then that other bird 
woke and shook its wings, and all of a sudden you jumped 
right up onto your feet, and you couldn’t keep still any 
longer, and as you rushed through the woods and out 
towards the house, out tumbled those beautiful notes, one 
upon another, run upon run, higher, higher, until it seemed 
they must reach the pearly gates themselves in their glorious 
jubilance and ecstasy. 

And Margaret Raymond, listening with an anxious 
heart, heard those tones and smiled and was content, for now 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 35 

she knew that all was right. And Mary Beaton, hearing 
that wonderful outburst of song, closed her eyes and in- 
voluntarily a prayer came to her lips for that grand young 
life that so closely touched hers. 

The baby, a beautiful flaxen haired child, grew and 
thrived and the boy almost idolized her ; and now the true 
disposition of John Raymond showed itself in all its con- 
temptible nakedness. While not becoming out and out in- 
toxicated, he still drank enough to fire the demon of hateful- 
ness within him, his supreme desire seeming to be to devise 
meannesses at which any sober man would have hid his 
head for shame; or to lash the very soul of that proud, 
over-sensitive boy, until it seemed to drip blood. To watch 
that exquisite temper rise under the flaying of his vile 
tongue, and then sneeringly laugh and dare him to show 
any resentment whatever. What ? dear reader, you say this 
could not be true? But I say to you, it is true, and more, 
for “ we know whereof we speak.” The pity is, that man, 
man created in the image and likeness of his God, capable 
of the highest and noblest, with everything about him in 
God’s great universe calling upon him to be great, to be 
noble, to be holy, so often like a self-maddened brute stub- 
bornly seeks to sink himself to the lowest, until it would 
seem that fire itself, whose duty it is to burn and purify, 
is far too pure and holy to even come in contact with his 
miserable, sin-polluted body and soul. 

Horses were a passion with the boy and knowing this 
John Raymond would never allow him to have anything to 
do with the horse at home, but Jim Beaton early found out 
the true state of affairs and so one day in spring went over 


36 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

to the home of Raymond after Alfred, as, he said, he 
wanted him to drive old Charlie while he cultivated corn. 

Now the fact of the matter was that old Charlie needed 
no more to have anyone ride or drive him in the corn rows 
than a wheel barrow needed a fan, but Farmer Jim saw 
that the boy needed a horse to ride, and this was the only 
plausible way he could enter the wedge he meant to use 
later. And, oh, the joy of that boy when he was first lifted 
up to the sheepskin on old Charlie's back ; the warm sweaty 
smell of the old horse's body; the feel of the thick mane, as 
his young hands buried themselves in it far more often 
than they grasped the bridle; and I’m afraid old Charlie 
tramped many more hills of corn from being driven than 
he would had he been allowed to go his own gait and 
training. 

“But then, what’s a few hills of corn?" said Farmer 
Jim; “guess a few hills of corn didn’t amount to much 
when a man was learning to ride.” 

Then, later, there was Tom, the big bay; sometimes you 
had to go on errands, and then Tom went much faster; 
but the greatest of all was the day Farmer Jim put him up 
on the sorrel colt while he held the halter, and the sorrel 
reared right up in the air, oh, so straight, but he was not 
afraid, he just caught him in his big lovely mane and 
slapped him on the neck and said, “ Be still, sir," just like 
Farmer Jim did, and Mrs. Beaton scolded and screamed as 
he fell off in Farmer Jim’s arms, who laughed as he said, 
“ That’s all right son ; some day you’ll learn to ride, then 
all the sorrel colts in the world won’t throw you." And 
Mrs. Beaton had scolded some more and said, “ Jim 
Beaton, you’ll keep on till you break that child’s neck yet 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


37 


with your foolishness,” and Farmer Jim had said, 
“There, mother, there, do you wan’t to make a molly- 
coddle out of this boy, like you have of me?” Then Mrs. 
Beaton laughed and said, “ Guess I didn’t have to work very 

hard, Jim,” and Farmer Jim said, " See here, mother, ” 

but she had gone back into the house, laughing. 

Ah, Jim Beaton, you old fraud you, Alfred Raymond 
analyzed you in after years, and he saw right through your 
poor, weak subterfuges and deceits; tore them all to 
shreds; unraveled them down to the first stitch; proved 
every act of yours, you old deceit you. Measured every 
word and weighed them ; yes, weighed them in the scale of, 
“As ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done 
it unto Me.” And found every one a pearl of rarest purity. 
And he measured you up to the Divine Rule and found you 
the full stature of a man, and pure gold. 

Thank God, there are many Jim Beaton’s in the world 
and there are many Mary Beaton’s, and they are the 
" Leaven that leavens the whole lump.” 

All of this was years and years ago, or so it seemed to 
Alfred Raymond as he took his lonely way to school. 

When was it ? Sometime way back in the dim past, he 
had been a happy, laughing, singing boy. But that seemed 
in some dim and far-ofif age. He remembered reading, oh, 
so long ago, of the piper who had piped the little children 
away, away from childhood, away from happiness, away 
from song, and they became such old, old little children. 
And he wondered how that could be. What it must be 
like. Now he knew. He felt so old, and weary, and worn 
himself. 

He seemed to, or thought he stood still; he felt so 


38 My Land. My Country. My Horne. 

desolate and cold, while all the familiar way seemed to be 
going by the other way, while he stood and watched it with 
vacant, staring eyes. Once he thought he saw some of the 
other school boys, and they seemed to call, but their voices 
sounded so dim and far away, and in a little while they 
were gone. Other familiar objects passed by in a slow, dim 
procession, and then after a while he heard the school bell, 
but it sounded so far off, and yet, right before him was 
the open door with two or three happy faces looking 
toward him over their shoulders. And then he seemed to 
see himself go in the same door. It seemed all so unreal. 
It seemed as if some strange boy stood in his place, and he 
noticed the look of surprise upon the teacher’s face as that 
strange boy said good morning, then walked up the aisle and 
took his, Alfred’s, seat. 

He saw the wondering look the teacher bent upon that 
strange boy when she saw him take out his books and pre- 
pare to do his work, but in such a strange way. Once or 
twice the teacher spoke directly to that boy and then he 
saw how he hesitated to reply to his, Alfred’s, name. And 
still he seemed to stand off and watch, ’twas so unreal. 
He saw h(*w the other children looked at that strange boy, 
but he, the boy, did not seem to see them, he did not seem 
to see anything, he seemed so out of place ; he looked such 
an old, old, boy; while he, Alfred, felt so far away, and 
so weary. 

The long hours of the morning session dragged them- 
selves slowly along; every time the teacher asked him a 
question, that strange boy would always answer. He could 
not understand it. ’Twas so unreal. 

At last he heard the sharp ring of the bell that 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


39 


called for order before the noon hour, and it seemed to 
drive through his weary brain like a hot, white light. 

He heard the teacher’s voice speaking to him and he 
struggled to throw off the painful lethargy that oppressed 
him and hear what she said. What was it? He was to 
remain in his seat? It never occurred to him to ask for 
what. In fact he felt so deathly heavy and weary that he 
would much rather sit still. He leaned his head on his 
hands. That other boy was gone, and he sat there now, all 
alone. 

Presently someone came down the aisle and lifted his 
head; he looked up. It was Miss Merriam, the teacher; 

blank astonishment in every feature, and “Alfred ! 

What is the matter? Are you ill? ” burst from her lips. 

He shook his head. Then it all came back to him: 
The run through the wet woods, the wild burst of song, the 
mighty prayer, and then, his father’s curses. The heavy 
load and then the refusal to allow him to sing, and his face 
became for a moment positively ghastly. 

Quickly Charlotte Merriam crossed the room to her 
desk and, picking up her lunch box, returned to the soul- 
strickened boy and taking up his also, she led him through 
a side door away from the building, through a little field, 
then a small grove of pine trees, to a little sheltered cove 
holding within its embrace the same little brook at whose 
side he had gone once before that day. 

She made him sit down and open his lunch box, and 
she saw the dainty manner in which it had been arranged ; 
the wise, maternal care that had arranged everything with 
loving, careful detail. Then opening hers, she began to 
eat, and, in as natural and easy a manner as she could, she 


40 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

began to talk upon subjects that had heretofore been of 
interest to the boy. 

Avoiding watching him, and feeling confidence in her- 
self that she would be able to loosen that icy tension which 
her quick womanly intuition had shown her, she had be- 
come somewhat interested in her subject, until, happening 
to look toward him, she discovered that he had not once 
touched the tempting lunch before him. 

With a quick vivacious movement of her head she 
said, half chiding, half laughing, “ Come, come, Alfred! 
This will never do, you would better eat your lunch, or you 
won't be at all able to attend the rehearsal to-night, then 
what would we do at the festival ? For you know, boy, the 
success or failure of the whole thing rests on you, and what 
would good Mr. Eaton say?” 

“ Oh ! Miss Merriam ! Don’t ! Don’t ! ” gasped the 

boy. 

“ Don’t what ? ” said she in amazement. “ Don’t what, 
Alfred?” 

“ Miss Merriam ! Don’t you know ? Don’t you 
know ? ” wailed the boy, who in his childish mind felt that 
all the world must know, as he knew, the dreadful truth. 
In his half boyish, half childish mind, the fact that his 
father having forbidden him to sing meant a shameful 
catastrophe. 

Miss Merriam, reaching out and taking the slender 
boyish hands in her warm strong clasp, started with sur- 
pise as she felt their icy touch ; yet not to be deterred, she 
said, giving him a little shake, and speaking half sternly, 
half seriously: 

“ Alfred, I know nothing, and am deeply pained to 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 41 

find you in this condition and I do not understand. You 
say you are not ill, yet your hands are like ice. Now I want 
you to tell me. Tell me all that is troubling you. I never 
saw you like this before. Come, tell me! What is the 
matter ? ” 

Now as she looked for the first time closely into his 
face and saw that wan, pinched look, the dull, leaden eyes, 
how the little chest had sunk, and the little form had con- 
tracted, her mind misgave her, and her fine courage faltered, 
for she began to fear that here might be, perhaps, a trouble 
that was more genuine than she had at first imagined. 

She waited patiently and her heart ached as she heard 
that awful rasping in the delicate little throat. 

“ My father — he — says — I — can’t — sing — at — the — 

festival/’ 

“ Alfred ! ” she half screamed, as she took him by his 
little frail shoulders and gently shook him in her agitation. 
“ What do you mean? Do you know what you are saying? 
Think! Think! you must be mistaken! Your father could 
not mean such a thing ! Why ! — Why ! — ” said she, as 
she fairly gasped for breath. “ Why, it means the ruin 
of the whole thing ! ” 

“ Oh! Miss Merriam! Don’t! Don’t!” and the boy 
threw up both hands as if to ward off a blow. “ Don’t ! ” 
he shrilled. “ Oh ! it hurts me so here ! ” and he put his 
hands against his throat where that awful rasping continued. 

Every fibre in Charlotte Merriam’s body ached as she 
saw that little chest heave and pant as if it would burst as 
those terrible sobs tore their way through that childish 
frame; at the sound of that awful voice as it rasped and 
scraped from the delicate throat. 


4 2 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

He was going on now, and it was one awful, confused 
jumble. “ Oh ! it's awful ! Awful ! And what will Mr. 
Eaton say? Oh! what will he say? Oh, if he hadn’t 
always been so good. And he so often like that and it’s 
so hard, so hard, and I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t mind if 
he only wouldn’t say anything to mother, but, but he, he 
swears so at mother ’nd it seems ’s if I couldn’t stand it, 
’nd Mr. Beaton says, he says, we’ll be there, ’nd they’ve 
all been so good, and mother — Oh, if it wasn’t for 
mother! I don’t care what he says to me, if — .” 

“ Alfred! Alfred!” she screamed. “Stop! Stop! 
Oh, you break my heart ! And all this has been going on,” 
sobbed the woman, “ and we have not known the half. 
Oh, God! how long! How long will we continue to hug 
this vile black curse to us, and hide our faces from the 
truth, while this cursed thing stalks through our land, its 
filthy garments dripping with the life blood of innocent 
little children and good women, leaving all its path strewn 
with broken and ruined lives.” 

Charlotte Merriam stood for a moment, overwhelmed 
by her emotions. Almost stunned by the revelation; then 
slowly she sank to her knees, and laying her folded hands 
upon the bowed head of the now deadly silent boy, lifted 
her face toward the skies above and closed her eyes. 
Forth from her trembling lips came this prayer : “ Oh, God, 
be merciful.” 

After a few moments she rose to her feet and turned 
to retrace her steps to the schoolhouse. As she reached 
the edge of the little cove she turned to the boy, who re- 
mained seated, and said, as calmly as she could, for her 
mind was still in great confusion. “ When I ring the bell, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 43 

Alfred, come back to the school room; I will not ask you 
for any lessons this afternoon.” She paused for a moment, 
as if waiting, then added, as her voice thrilled with low 
intense feeling, " God will find a way.*' 

After a short time the bell rang. The scholars re- 
assembled, with all the confusion usual to the occasion. 
Alfred quietly took his place and the session went forward. 

Now, this, which might appear a matter only trivial 
in itself, and which did not seem to need to involve so much 
confusion, was in reality of considerable importance. 

During the last generation the little village of Bentwell 
had increased considerably in size and population, and had 
outgrown its original boundaries and spread considerably 
over the near lying lands until it presented with its neat 
attractive homes and few well-kept streets, a rather pre- 
possessing appearance, and had become a power necessary 
to be considered and dealt with. 

The little church, scarcely more than meeting house, 
which had been erected in the days of the grandfathers of 
the present generation, had become entirely inadequate to 
the demands made upon it, and so, by common consent, the 
old weather-stained building had been razed and a fine 
new edifice erected upon the old site. 

The festival referred to was in reality a service ar- 
ranged to consecrate the building to the use for which it 
had been erected. 

A splendid pipe organ, the gift of a former bright 
young man of the church, who had gone to a distant city 
and amassed an immense fortune, was to be installed at the 
same time. And what had been at first called The Festival 
Dedication was now spoken of as The Festival. 


44 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The Rev. Henry Eaton had come to that little com- 
munity more than thirty years before ; a young man of more 
than ordinary ability, with a deep sense of the importance 
of the step he had taken, and a rare insight into the needs 
of the people he had come among. 

He was a splendid leader of men, and had so endeared 
himself to these people, that at two or three different times 
when he had received a most flattering call to a distant 
largely populated town, could not be prevailed upon to 
sever the bond that held him to this little community. 

In his early life he had been a passionate student of 
music, and until he received the Divine call, “ Go ye, there- 
fore, and teach all nations/’ it was supposed that that would 
become his chosen, profession ; and having studied directing 
under some of the most eminent and able men of his time 
he soon found in what a deplorable condition the so-called 
music of the church was. 

When he had first come to Bentwell he had found 
conditions there no better or no worse than the average ; nor 
did he at first attempt any sweeping changes. 

With rare judgment and skill he had gradually brought 
the subject around; in fact, it seemed to present itself, 
indeed so skilfully and unassumingly had he effected the 
introduction that no one ever suspected that he was the 
originator of the entire scheme. 

One day a few of the then young people had waited 
upon him with the idea of having some musical instruction. 
Oh, a kind of singing school. “ Why, yes, that was a good 
idea. Of course they knew where they could get a 
teacher ? ” 

“A teacher, why, no, they rather thought that he might, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 45 

perhaps, give them a little drilling. Oh, as much as they 
would need. Of course they supposed the ‘ singin’ in 
meetin’ ’ could be improved.” 

“ Well, now, that was a good idea. He’d think it 
over.” And ably supported by his good wife he had 
thought it over to the end that the following winter a first- 
class singing school, with real officers, real rules and a real 
fee, was organized. “ For,” as he explained to them, that 
“ giving people something for nothing was a somewhat 
dangerous practice. And that when a boy or girl or, for 
that matter, a young man or young woman were paying 
their hard earned money for any commodity whatever they 
were the more anxious, as a rule, to get all that they were 
paying for, and at the same time make good use of it.” 

So the work was begun ; the rudimentary and founda- 
tion work were laid out and taught with rare skill and 
judgment. Year succeeded year, and the work went stead- 
ily but quietly on until the people of that little community 
began to look upon this branch of the work as an estab- 
lished thing, sealed not only with the approval of the church, 
but also with the Divine approval itself. 

In fact, so thoroughly established became this branch 
of the work that parents began to impress upon their chil- 
dren the importance of attending strictly to the work with a 
fidelity only superseded by that of the day school and the 
church itself. 

Now the influence of the effect of this work began to 
make itself felt in the adjoining communities as would the 
influence and effect of some noble stream, which, suddenly, 
yet quietly, had been turned into some desert and arid land 
make itself felt upon that land. Yet it was, naturally, the 


46 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

wonderful effect felt in the home community. Gradually 
the whole moral tone was uplifted and elevated. Gradu- 
ally that little place took on a higher degree of education 
and refinement, and travelers from the great world without 
had been deeply impressed by the high moral tone of the 
place. 

Very often had the good pastor expressed the desire 
that he “ hoped that he might live to see the day that music 
would become a compulsory education and take its proper 
place with other branches of study. For,” he went on to 
say, he “ knew of nothing that was such a powerful factor 
in elevating the moral and religious spirit of the great 
world as was music.” 

When he first came in actual contact with the boy 
Alfred Raymond, he was astounded at the wonderful beauty 
of his voice and his remarkably acute and retentive ear; 
for at a very early age he displayed powers of vocalism 
that were most astounding. In works where older and 
more experienced singers had failed, particularly in chro- 
matique, or repetition with slight variation, he sang with 
an ease of finality and perfection that was mechanically and 
absolutely correct. 

The spiritual side of the boy left him much troubled, for 
reading the father like an open book, for John Raymond 
was a secret to no one, he was often led to wonder that a 
boy with the wonderful temperament Alfred displayed 
should have sprung from such a source. With Margaret 
Raymond he had never been able to establish any familiar 
footing whatever. The few calls he had made in company 
with Mrs. Eaton had never served to eliminate in any degree 
the barrier of reserve which seemed to surround her at 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 47 

every point. A beautiful woman in face and form, calmly 
courteous at all times, polite and cordial, but beyond that 
he had never been able to pass. In fact the only one who 
had ever made any seeming impression upon this woman was 
Mary Beaton, and between them it was more an unex- 
pressed bond of mutual understanding, for no word of per- 
sonal character ever passed between them ; although Mary 
Beaton was with her at the birth of both of her little girls, 
the younger at this time being a little over one year old. 

That she was a truly religious woman he did not doubt, 
as she seemed not only willing but anxious that Alfred 
should have every advantage that the school and church 
offered. She paid his fee for the singing class from money 
she herself earned, for she was a skilful worker with her 
needle and so was often given employment on fine work. 

How she had ever come to unite herself to such a man 
as John Raymond was a thing to which he could not recon- 
cile his thoughts. 

Between himself and the boy there had been no visible 
attachment, for very soon he had learned of the unnatural 
aversion John Raymond held toward him, and allowed no 
opportunity to pass without venting some of his devilish 
spleen upon him, and so he had been content to do for him 
what he could through such people as Jim Beaton and his 
wife Mary, and also through Charlotte Merriam. 

Upon such points as the church work, the school and 
the music school, his mother had so far held her point, but 
now the time was fast approaching when the issue would 
soon have to be declared, for while the law was on her side 
now, only a few, oh, so few, short years must elapse when 


48 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the same law which was now his protection must turn and 
become his betrayer. Oh, wonderful law ! 

The coming festival dedication, an undertaking which, 
under ordinary circumstances would have proven a 
ridiculous farce, became in this case, by virtue of the thirty 
years of preparation, a festival of really great proportion, 
and Alfred Raymond was the keynote to the whole situation. 

Through the two massive choral works from the 
“ Messiah/’ “ And the glory, the glory of the Lord ” and 
the “ Hallelujah,” his wonderful soprano voice was the 
golden cord that bound the great structure together, and 
without him they would be simply powerless. Then as a 
climax the wonderful “ Inflammatus ” from the “ Stabat 
Mater ” was to be given in English text, the latter great 
solo demanding a voice of almost superhuman qualities, 
and all of these qualities, it was found, were all bound to- 
gether in that one small childish body. 

To give the affair a touch of perfection and finality, a 
very celebrated organist from the great metropolis, who 
had been a college friend of Mr. Eaton, had consented to 
come and play for the occasion, little Miss Paige, who was 
the regular organist, having refused to touch the great 
instrument for that celebration. 

And Mr. Eaton had smiled to himself when, upon 
receiving the reply from the great organist consenting to 
play, he had read the suggestion implied, of the exceedingly 
proficient people it took to handle such a program, par- 
ticularly the works mentioned. 

And this was Tuesday, and the great festival dedica- 
tion was down for Friday; and on account of that Miss 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 49 

Merriam had received permission to dismiss the school 
for the balance of the week. 

And this was the condition of the arrangements when 
drunken bestiality had crushed that noble boy to the earth 
with horror and despair, reduced Charlotte Merriam to a 
state of bewildered confusion and raised Margaret Raymond 
almost to the point of a living whirlwind. 

How would it all end? 

Who could bring order out of that sudden and awful 
confusion? For John Raymond, once set as he had set 
himself now, was hard to move; and the ones most inter- 
ested, and the most to be injured, were the ones he hated 
the most ; and his drunken cupidity would be able to devise 
no means whereby he would be enabled to create so much 
havoc and ruin and sate his hellish meanness as this. 

Charlotte Merriam took up her regular afternoon work 
in a dazed, half stupified manner; and fortunately the 
routine work was particularly beneficial, for it gave her 
time to gather her scattered senses. In a dozen minutes 
she devised as many schemes, in the end to reject them all. 
That no one but herself and the boy and his mother knew 
of the ruin that threatened all their elaborate plans she felt 
reasonably certain and was thankful. 

At first she thought of seeing Mr. Eaton and have 
him go to John Raymond, then she remembered the 
wretched hatred Raymond had for the pastor, so she 
abandoned that. That she thought of appealing to him 
herself, but she recalled that once, when she had asked him 
to allow her to take up a special course of work with Alfred, 
he had, with a curse, asked her to mind her own affairs. 
Then she thought of Jim and Mary Beaton, they seemed to 


50 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

have more influence than anyone else; but suppose some- 
thing should go wrong; she knew Mary Beaton’s sharp but 
honest tongue and temper, and that might only make things 
harder for the boy and his mother. 

Miss Merriam sighed and looked helplessly around. 
She could see no loophole of escape. 

The hours of the long afternoon session dragged them 
slowly along. Interminably long to the weary, hopless boy. 
Feverishly, restlessly long to the puzzled and distressed 
teacher. 

Slowly her thoughts began to come back and shape 
themselves. Gradually they ceased to dart to and fro. She 
was able now to think more clearly. She would go and see 
his mother. She would not try to plan, she would let 
matters take their natural course. Margaret Raymond was 
a wise woman, and perhaps she could find the sequel to it all. 
Yes, she would do that. 

At last the hour for closing came. The bell rang for 
order, there was a great bustle, a great confusion. Then 
gradually law and order began to prevail. A second tap, 
and the whole school rose. Another, and section by sec- 
tion the children trooped out, bidding the teacher good- 
night as they went. Once outside, what a release of pent-up 
energies ! What a pandemonium ! But why try to describe 
it? You have all heard it, for you have all been a part of 
it, and you all know it better than I can describe it. Only, 
I beg of you, don’t ever try to forget it and in trying, for- 
get that you were all once young yourselves. If you want 
to forget, forget that you are growing older. For if you 
succeed in forgetting that you yourselves were once young 
you have forever snapped the slender golden chain that 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 51 

binds you to the opportunity of ever being of any assistance 
to these men and women of the future, which God meant 
you to be. 

Alfred lingered in his seat. He seemed to be engaged 
in putting away his books. Then he took his way slowly 
to the entry. Miss Merriam said good-night as he passed 
her desk, to which he replied and passed out. He seemed 
to desire to be alone and she did not intrude. 

He lingered in the entry and, a little later, he came out 
into the now deserted playground. All were gone. He 
passed down the walk, out to the road that led to his home. 
In spite of himself his feet seemed to linger. He wanted to 
see his mother, yet he dreaded to meet his father. His feet 
seemed to linger, and yet he seemed to be coming to the 
top of the little hill above his home all too quickly. With 
a long drawn intake of breath, which was more like a sob, 
he came to the brow of the hill. 

He looked ahead and noticed how clearly he could see 
Mr. Beaton’s house. Then his eyes wandered slowly up 
the familiar road until he could see his own home just 
beyond the foot of the hill ; and there, yes, there by the gate 
was mother, waiting. 

He wanted to see mother, but there was father, and 
his little soul sickened at the remembrance of his father. 

Coming down the hill, naturally his body was impelled 
forward a little more quickly, and the natural resistance 
caused the heart to act more easily ; and as the blood began 
to take on a more lively action, he came into a half run, 
and then unconsciously he swung into a slow elastic trot. 

As he came nearer he could hear his mother’s voice 


52 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

and something in it caused him to hasten a little more. 
She was saying, “ Come, Boy, hurry up, I want you,” and 
he came running now, up to her, and there was such a 
smile on her face, and such a look in her eye, that he had 
to catch his breath ; for she was saying, “ I thought you 
were very long coming, so I came to look,” and she did not 
give him a chance to talk but just looked right at him with 
that look that went right down where he had felt so sick 
all day and it seemed to warm him up all over, and she 
was saying, “ For there is such a large pile of wood back 
of the shed that I would like to have put inside ; and then 
wash you, and we will have an early supper, for you know 
they want you at the church to-night early.” 

“ But, mother,” he faltered, “ father said ” 

“That’s all right, Boy, but mother has something to 
say about that.” And oh, how the soul of that boy lifted 
as he heard the tone in mother’s voice. “ Father has gone 
to Glenmont. They came for him to help with the building 
there, and he won’t be home until Saturday or Sunday, 
and it’s all right.” 

And then such a load as rolled off from that poor 
aching heart. And may God pity the wretches who go up 
and down the world spreading such misery and desolation. 
For the Divine word says, that — “ Who so shall offend 
one of these little ones, it were better that a millstone were 
hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the midst 
of the sea.” 

Then mother said, “ Oh ! Oh ! See who is coming 
here ! ” And there, around the corner of the house was 
coming little Margaret and Baby Beatrice, and the little 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 53 

baby that he loved so was standing there with her chubby 
hands outstretched and calling, “ Bo ! Bo ! ” And the next 
thing, he did not know how it was, but he had her up in 
his now strong arms, and she had both her baby hands in 
his thick wavy hair; and little Margaret held him so tight 
about the knees and mother was saying, “No, no, baby! 
No, no. Baby musn’t put her hands in Bobo’s hair.” And 
somehow his eyes smarted and he said, “ Oh, sho ! 
Mother, that wont hurt me ! ” And pretty soon he was out 
behind the shed and that wood just went flying in that old 
shed. And sometimes he’d whistle, and then sometimes 
he’d sing; and oh! he felt so happy. And first thing you 
know the wood was all in and piled up ; then he washed his 
face and hands and just as he came round the house, there 
was Miss Merriam and mother! And mother was say- 
ing, “ No, Miss Merriam, John won’t be able to do 
that work before next week, for he is away from home 
and won’t be back in time.” Then Miss Merriam said 
something, he couldn’t quite hear, and then mother said, 
“ Don’t go, Miss Merriam, we are going to have tea and I 
would be so proud to have you stay and take tea with us, 
and then there will be plenty of time for you to go to the 
rehearsal, and I know Alfred would like very much to go 
with you.” 

And Miss Merriam had smiled and said she was so 
pleased to stay, as Alfred came up and said, “ Oh ! Please, 
Miss Merriam, do.” 

And then Miss Merriam said she would and oh, he was 
such a happy boy now; and that night at the rehearsal he 
sang, oh, how he sang, until Mr. Eaton had come up and 
said, “ Easy, Boy, take it easy.” 


54 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

But in the wonderful “ Imflammatus,” they couldn’t 
understand why the tears would start as they listened, — 

“ Through the loved Redeemer’s dying,” 

but Charlotte Merriam knew and understood. 

So the dark cloud had vanished away, and God had 
sent the light at the evening time. 


My Land. My Country . My Home. 


55 


CHAPTER III 

Friday morning broke bright and clear. Not a cloud 
in sight. The sky showed one great expanse of Heavenly 
blue. The sun shone with a clear, pure radiance with just 
a slight promise of delicious warmth. A light breeze 
fluttered the brilliant foliage of the gorgeously colored 
trees. Bathed in that beautiful coloring and rosy light, 
the day seemed to have been peculiarly set apart, and 
adorned for the use to which this people had appointed it. 

Farmer Jim was coming leisurely out from the barn 
in response to the call for breakfast, feeling very much at 
ease with himself, and all the world, for here was a new 
holiday, right almost in the middle of the week ; why, such 
a thing was unheard of ; especially in his busy life, and 
Farmer Jim considered himself to be a very energetic and 
busy man and often spoke of the great rush that he was 
almost always in ; and then his neighbors looked very wise 
and just smiled. 

Why I have seen him* drive out from his farmyard 
with his plow in the farm-truck, the heavy whiplash whirl- 
ing and hissing in his big hand, half shouting all sorts of 
threats. But that lash never descended, and that splendid 
team of big bays walked along as steadily and quietly, as if 
Farmer Jim had been at the other end of the farm. Oh, 
occasionally they would flip off a too-persistent fly, but 
that was about all. 

And I have seen that splendid team before the plow, 
with Farmer Jim at the handles, come to a nasty bit of 


56 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

work near an old stump; heard him tell them of all the 
direful things that were like to happen right there, and 
then I have seen that fine, big off horse deliberately settle 
back slowly in the harness, while the nigh one went steadily, 
surely on and passed the obstruction, thereby leaving a 
better way; and yet, everything now appeared on the verge 
of a hopeless confusion; Farmer Jim was scolding, the 
plow was just moving, when the off horse, now that a way 
was made, stepped quietly in that way and all things swung 
back in their appointed place, without jostling, without 
confusion, and at the end of the day, one looking and see- 
ing the work accomplished would exclaim, “ How does he 
do it! ” 

How? I answer you; steady, reliable application. His 
horses were his friends, his children; as such he treated 
them, and for the love and pains he bore them, in like 
manner they repaid his care and protection to the full 
extent of their poor dumb ability. 

As the mighty river moves on in its majestic course, 
bearing upon its broad bosom the great destinies of a great 
nation, so does the grand army of these stable men move 
silently, steadily, unflinchingly on, bearing upon their 
mighty shoulders, the grave and complex burdens of this, 
one of the mightiest nations of the earth. And God grant 
that that sobriety, earnestness, and honesty, may be pre- 
served in all of its purity until they shall carry her a 
glorious nation and success onward, outward, upward, to 
the very throne of God. 

Suddenly, old Shep, who had been trailing along be- 
hind, rushed around the corner of the barn barking as he 
went. “ Here, you Shep ! ” called Farmer Jim after him, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 57 

“ come back here ! ” But Shep was gone and he could 
hear him barking as he ran down across the meadow. 
“ Now what’s the matter with that old fool dog? Crows, 
I s’pose,” said he as he continued on toward the house. 

As he reached the little side gate that led in to the 
kitchen door, still hearing the barking of the dog from far 
down across the meadow, he turned and looked just in 
time to see a little flying form come vaulting over the rail 
fence that bounded the great field. Saw it grasp the dog by 
his great shaggy collar, then up across the field they came, 
like a small double-headed tornado; the old dog running 
and barking with all his might, and the boy, his glistening 
white feet and legs flashing in the sunlight and his slim 
body bent forward, running like a young Indian. 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” he called sharply, “ come here, 
come quick ! ” He was almost as excited as the running 
pair. 

A flushed anxious face appeared at the door. “ What 
do you want now? Don’t you know that breakfast’s all 
ready and gettin’ stone cold, and you stand there and keep 
me waitin’ ’sif I didn’t have a thing ” 

“ Hurry up, mother ! ” said he, breaking in upon her. 
“ Hurry up and come here, or you’ll miss it ! ” 

“ Miss what? ” said she. And then drawing her apron 
up around her heated head and neck she came out to where 
he was standing, with a hurried step as she heard the 
barking of the dog. 

“ Look there, mother ! Look there ! Ain’t that a 
corkin’ sight? Run, boy! Run! That’s the way to do it. 
Hooray!” Whack! And his hand came down upon his 
thigh with a ringing blow. “ Hooray ! ” shouted he again 


58 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

as he snatched his old wool hat off his touseled head and 
flung it toward the kitchen door, his honest face all alight 
with excitement and good cheer. 

“Jim! Jim! If you ain’t the beatenest!” said his 
wife. “ I declare, you worse’n the boy ! ” Then shrilly to 
the running boy, “Alfred! Alfred! Don’t run like that! ’’ 

Woof! Around the corner they came like a whirl- 
wind; crash! Shep in turning to look at the boy made a 
misstep, turned a complete summersault and landed in the 
middle of the road with a mighty flop. The boy stopped 
short, while peal upon peal of laughter rang out like a 
flood of silvery bells, and Jim Beaton roared until his sides 
ached and assured the boy a little later that he knew he 
should be sick for a week, and ’twas all his, Alfred’s, and 
the dog’s fault. At which Alfred only sniffed and said, 
“ Humph.” 

When he looked up and saw them standing at the little 

gate he lifted up his radiant face and Oo Oo 

hoo 00 00 , oh, that birdlike call ! How can 

I describe it? 

“ Come up, Alfred. Come up, Boy,” called Mary 
Beaton, who, in the excitement, had forgotten all about the 
dreadfully ruined breakfast. 

On he came with a rush, the old dog, with heavy, awk- 
ward capering, an excited second; his face glowing, his 
eyes flashing, his beautiful hair all wind blown and dis- 
ordered, his little bared feet and legs all wet and glisten- 
ing from their bath in the cold morning dew, he looked the 
very incarnation of boyish health and happiness. 

Was this? Could this be the same boy who only a 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 59 

few short days before seemed strickened as ’twere, with 
death itself? 

Yes, it was the same boy, for youth, you know, is the 
time of hope, and hope is life, and youth has in it the very 
essence of elastic life itself. 

Have you never seen some beautiful slender young 
tree bowed down, bent to the very earth by some unfor- 
tunate, unnatural weight, suddenly, upon being released, 
spring to its extreme height again and toss and wave, de- 
fiant, almost as if inviting in its wonderful flexibility and 
courage ? 

So it is with youth, for out of the shock of resistance 
comes strength and growth ; so it was with this boy. 

On he came, all glow, all life, all happiness; in his 
excitement and joy he forgot his manners. He forgot to 
be polite. But then he was only a boy. And they who 
loved much, were so happy to forgive much, for they truly 
loved. 

Out tumbled the words in a torrent, one falling over 
the other, panting and gasping for breath ; for no one can 
hope to run at full speed for a quarter of a mile and then 
expect to deliver an excited speech and do it very success- 
fully. 

“ There, there, Boy,” said Mrs. Beaton, as she put 
her arm around his panting shoulders and drew him close 
to her side. “ Now just stop a minute and get your 
breath.” And then there gurgled up a wave of rich laughter 
that was most delicious to listen to. Just as you have come 
upon some exquisite fresh fountain of pure sweet water 
that gushed up from the earth at your feet, and kneeling 
down you have drank and oh, how refreshed you were. 


60 My Land . My Country . My Home. 

So that wave of rich laughter flowed in upon the child- 
less life of these two disappointed ones and left a gleam of 
happiness that never quite disappeared. 

He was talking more slowly now, quite rationally. 
Breakfast was quite forgotten. 

Mother was going to the festival. He had begged her 
so hard to go. You see she so seldom went anywhere; and 
now there were the two little ones. But he was quite sure 
they would be good. Oh, he wanted her to go so much. 
He wanted her to hear him sing just like he sang for Mr. 
Eaton and all the people. And wouldn’t she please go? 
And he would help bring the little sisters over to the 
church. And oh, it was so funny to hear little Margaret 
try to say, “ Doin’ t’ chu’ch,” and so mother said she would 
go, but that he must not wait for her, for they needed him to 
come early, and she would manage the little sisters alone. 

So he had not said anything to mother, but had rushed 
right over, and please couldn’t or wouldn’t Mr. Beaton let 
mother and little Margaret and the baby ride in their 
wagon ? He was sure they wouldn’t take much room, and 
the little babies were so small, and so light 

And Father Jim and Mary Beaton were both trying 
to talk at the same time, and Mrs. Beaton forgot to hold 
fast her apron, and it dropped down from her face and a 
little wind kept blowing those little yellow curls all round 
her face, and made her look, as she said, “ Perfectly silly.” 
And she was saying, “ Jim Beaton, you just get that big, 
roomy surry out. Good land! Are you always going to 
keep that thing covered up in the wagonhouse? ’fyou are, 
you’d better get a glass case for it. Yes, of course, child, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 61 

your mother’s goin’ to ride with us, and there’s lots of 
room for both those blessed babies and you too.” 

And Farmer Jim was saying at the same time, “ There, 
now, mother, didn’t I tell you that we’d ought to take that 
big surry out only you was so all fired afraid to get a speck 
of dirt on’t; you better put’t in the parlor on the mantelry 
shelf with th’ rest of th’ ornaments.” 

Which things neither one had said, but the boy looked 
up and understood, and said, “ Then I’ll tell mother she 
may ride with you ? ” 

“ Of course she shall ride with us,” said Farmer Jim, 
but before he could get any farther he was interrupted by 

a shrill scream from his wife — “ Oh h hi 

Jim Beaton, here we stand gabblin’ away like a couple of 
silly geese, and my breakfast won’t be fit to eat ; now you 
and Alfred Raymond git right in here just as fast as your 
legs will carry you ! ” And she rushed toward the house, 
exclaiming as she went, “ You, Shep, if you don’t stop for- 
ever gettin’ under my feet, someday I’ll give you such a 

kick you’ll ,” but the rest was lost as she disappeared 

storming into the house, and old Shep walked up to the 
door and deliberately turned his head, and cocked up one 
ear, as if listening to find what was to be the outcome of 
that awful threat. What inconceivable thing was to happen 
to him. 

“ Never mind, Shep,” said Farmer Jim, as he came up 
and patted the old dog on the head. “You mustn’t mind 
mother, that’s only her way and she can’t help it. Bark’s 
worse’n her bite. Bark’s worse’n her bite.” 

“ Jim Beaton, you ever goin’ to git in to breakfast?” 


62 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

came like a shot out of a gun, as she came to the door and 
looked out. “ Where’s that boy ? ” 

“ He’s had his breakfast, mother, and said that he 
must hurry back, his mother didn’t know where he was,” 
said Farmer Jim, as he followed his wife in to that awfully 
ruined breakfast. 

On the night before, Thursday, being the last rehearsal 
for the festival, all the participants had been quite dis- 
appointed, for the great organist who was expected to 
have been present and go through the last rehearsal with 
them, was so unfortunate as to miss his train, as was an- 
nounced by telegram; but assured them he would surely 
be on hand the next day, which was to-day. 

So little Miss Paige had been obliged to take the great 
organ after all, although she had been, as she said herself, 
scarcely capable of doing full justice to the great work. 
However, the rehearsal had passed off very satisfactorily, 
but it must be confessed that the disappointment lay more 
in the fact that they were not enabled to hear the great 
man with the beautiful organ, than any extreme desire to 
rehearse with him. 

The beautiful morning had passed away. The last 
touches had been applied ; the final arrangements all 
completed. 

The great organist had arrived and had been escorted 
to the church at his request that he might look the instru- 
ment over, and finding it in perfect condition, had, after 
expressing himself as perfectly satisfied, congratulated the 
pastor on his splendid new church and organ. All was now 
in readiness. 

A strong feeling of suppressed excitement was abroad. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 63 

This was a great occasion. The life of the old church ex- 
tended so far in the past that all those who had attended at 
its consecration, had long since passed away. 

And now they of the present were about to dedicate 
the new, standing in the place of the old. The young, as 
it were, sitting in the lap of the old; and many an eye 
grew dim as they remembered the sorrows as well as the 
joys that had taken place in the rule of the old, as must 
necessarily joy and sorrow still be commingled in the 
reign just begun of the new. 

But to-day they would be gay, so all tears would be 
wiped away as they turned their glowing faces toward the 
new, their joy and their Crown. For her they had wrought 
and striven. And now they would set her up, even upon 
her high place, and she would be their Guide and their 
Light, their Comfort and their Stay. 

A great hush had fallen upon the people. The beauti- 
ful new church was filled to its utmost capacity. From 
far and near the people had gathered to participate in this 
solemn and beautiful service which should dedicate this 
sister church to the work so grandly established by the old. 

The great congregation had assembled. All were 
filled with anxious expectancy. 

The warm golden September sunlight streamed in 
through the rich stained glass windows, causing many to 
remember the vision of John. 

The silence became intense. Suddenly from a small 
side door a man came and took his seat before the great 
organ. A moment of suspense, then, out over that startled 
throng of people rolled the opening measures of The 
Priests March, from Athalie. The beautiful tones of that 


64 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

noble instrument filled the sacred edifice and caused it to 
thrill to its nethermost foundation. Presently the choir 
door opened again and forth came the singers, quietly and 
without demonstration, simultaneously with the opening 
of another door, from which issued the Rev. Henry Eaton 
and the visiting clergy, who occupied the seats upon the 
platform. 

At the close of the voluntary, the organist, through a 
brilliant series of modulations, passed into the Doxology. 
Scarcely had he reached the second phrase when there 
came a sound as of wind when it first touches the highest 
treetops. Then a sound as of rushing waters, and glancing 
half ’round he saw that the choir had risen, then looking in 
the little mirror in front of him he could see that the great 
congregation was standing also. 

As he finished he gave a short pause; the thought as 
to what this people would do with the great program again 
flashed through his mind; indeed, so great had been his 
concern that he had been much tempted to invite a few of 
his trained people, who were his friends, to accompany 
him; then, upon considering the distance and the matter 
of entertainment among a people who were strangers to 
him, he had abandoned the idea ; seeking to allay his doubts 
with the thought, that as Mr. Eaton had prepared such an 
elaborate and trying service, why, the responsibility, must, 
in the natural order of things, rest with him. 

As he sounded the opening note of the great Gloria, he 
was almost stunned by the magnificent burst of melody 
that answered to the lead of the great instrument. Not 
one note of harmony was heard from the opening to the 
closing. Just one grand volume of melody which flowed 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 65 

forth with an onrush that, carrying everything before it, 
left him almost bewildered with its wonderful intensity 
and fervor; and he was obliged to acknowledge that never 
before had he heard anything like it, for here he had found 
a people who sang with the spirit and with the under- 
standing. 

After a short supplication, the hymn, “ Jesus Shall 
Reign,” with Duke St., was announced; and now fully 
reassured as to their capability of handling this part of the 
service, he began to enter into the work before him with 
more confidence, although he realized that the great test 
was yet to come. 

A, to him, remarkable thing, was, that simultaneously 
with the rising of the choir, which invariably rose at the 
first note of the last phrase, the great congregation stood 
and were fully prepared for the first syllable. No hesi- 
tancy, no lingering, no doubt. The magnificent harmony 
of that grand old hymn, poured forth from those hun- 
dreds of throats with a beauty and surety of tone that 
rivalled the great organ itself. 

The program moved forward; and as the organ gave 
forth the opening notes of the “ Glory of the Lord,” the 
choir rose and stood calmly waiting for the last note of the 
prelude ; then true to time and tune, with a calm assurance 
and splendid volume, forth pealed the alto chorus, “And 
the glory, the glory of the Lord ; ” without an instant's 
hesitation, without the shadow of a doubt, the choir took 
up their parts and the great fugue was sung with a precision 
of delivery and fineness of detail that left nothing to be 
desired. 

Through the wonderful fabric the great organist 


66 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

caught one golden tone, which, running like a silver cord, 
seemed to seize and bind the great structure in a manner 
that was marvellous; and at times he caught himself listen- 
ing; yet it seemed to be just out of his reach, so that by the 
time they had reached the great “ Hallelujah ” he had be- 
come so thoroughly impregnated with the spirit of the 
throng and the place, that he passed into the magnificent 
prelude with a stately grandeur that seemed to sweep him 
forward in spite of himself. 

Through all the intricacies of that splendid composi- 
tion the choir pursued its triumphant way, like a conquer- 
ing army. Coming to those wonderful passages, “ King 
of Kings and Lord of Lords/’ that one beautiful voice that 
he had been trying to locate, now rose like a golden trumpet 
above that splendid volume. Up, up, without wavering, it 
soared to the climax and then sank back among the rest 
like a wonderful instrument to the grand finale. 

Mr. John Burroughs was by this time almost in a 
fever of excitement; never in all his life had he had such 
an experience; coming to this strange people, prevented 
by a foolish accident, foolish on his part, for it was due to 
considerable carelessness that he had missed his train, and 
thereby missed the chance for a rehearsal with this superb 
choir, he had also missed the opportunity of learning the 
things he was now learning by a remarkable experience. 

Coming among them with considerable trepidation as 
to what they could do, the feeling began to intrude itself 
upon him that perhaps these people had had some thought 
as to what he could do, and also wondered if he were 
capable of maintaining the standard they, and not he, had 
set up. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 67 

And then, there was that wonderful voice. That a 
voice of more than uncommon beauty and capability was 
among them he now knew, but up to the present he had 
been unable to locate it. That it would undoubtedly do 
the great solo in the “ Inflammatus,” he was reasonably sure. 

The order of service moved steadily forward until 
through the building pealed the trumpet tones from the 
great organ which mark the opening bars of the great solo. 

Alfred Raymond had taken his position among the 
sopranos during the fore part of the service; now as the 
brazen tones of the great organ rolled forth he stepped 
out from the main choir and stood a little in advance ; from 
where he stood he could see the entire congregation and, 
for a moment, he was lost in contemplating the sea of 
expectant, upturned faces. Down in Mr. Beaton’s pew he 
saw his mother and the little sisters. He saw that his 
mother had taken the baby Beatrice up and was holding 
her closely clasped against her. Then he looked at the 
little Margaret; she had reached out her little hand and 
was pointing toward him, and he saw how Mrs. Beaton 
took the little one up and set her upon her feet on the 
seat and held her. All this he saw and wondered a little 
at it. Then a little stir in front of him. Mr. Eaton had 
turned a little in his chair, and he, looking down, saw the 
look in the good man’s face, and a little smile played across 
his beautiful, childish face. He heard the great organ 
now; those peculiar fluttering notes that always made him 
feel so strange, they seemed to be coming nearer, his throat 
ached, oh, how it ached ; his little chest swelled and 
throbbed as that wonderful harmony seemed to surround 
him. Then he lifted his face, and true to time and tune, 


68 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

without a tremor, out over that breathlessly expectant 
throng rang that glorious voice. 

Clear as a bell, mellow as a flute, glorious as a golden 
trumpet. 

“To Thy holy, to Thy holy care elected.” 

within the confining spaces of the building, those wonder- 
ful tones were absolutely faultless. Down they sank 
through that beautiful cadence with a beauty that was 
almost appalling. Then up through all the gradations of 
that great prayer — 

“ Savior, let me be protected, 

Savior let me be protected, on judgment, on judg- 
ment day.” 

A moment’s pause, then, crash ! With a tremendous vol- 
ume, outburst that magnificent C minor passage that seems 
to embody within it all the agony of the lost races them- 
selves. 

“ On the dreadful judgment day, 

On the dreadful judgment day, 

On the dreadful judgment day, 

The judgment, the judgment day!” 

A death-like silence hung over that vast assemblage. 
Margaret Raymond sat as if carved from stone while 
a mighty hand seemed to have gripped her very soul, and 
her face grew white and haggard. 

Mary Beaton clasped the little Margaret close in her 
left arm and with her right she pressed the little baby hand 
hard against her lips and sat breathless. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 69 

The great congregation never moved. 

The organ was going on with that peculiar fluttering 
movement, like a dove afar off, beating its wings in an 
agony of beseeching and sorrow. Then, out over the pain- 
ful sweetness stole that voice, modulated now with an 
unearthly beauty. 

“ Through the loved Redeemer’s dying,” 
back from the great choir, like a low sob came the response, 

“ Through the loved Redeemer’s dying, 

Let me fondly still relying,” 

came that Divine melody from the rarest instrument that 
ever came from the hands of God; a boy’s throat. On it 
soared, leading, leading, on, on, up, up, ever up, until it 
seemed as if the angels must have stooped to listen; then 
back it sank and rested like a jewel of rarest beauty in an 
exquisite diadem. 

Forth it pealed again ; now up, now down. Burst upon 
burst of prayer and entreaty, supplicating, beseeching, en- 
treating, until the soul fainted with the great misery. 

Heads were bowed, tears overflowed and ran down 
unnoticed. On, on, like a tempest-beaten, sin-besieged 
army they went, beseeching, praying, supplicating, ever 
struggling on, following the wonderful onrush of that 
glorious voice. 

Up the remaining heights as if they were besieging the 
very gates of Heaven itself as that superb voice rang out 
over the full chorus in that one last grand, last appeal, 
“ For Thy grace and mercy pray.” 


70 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Mr. Eaton, watching the boy with a fiercely intense 
look, was startled and, for a moment, sat as if stunned. 

In one of the western windows a small cross of yellow 
stained glass was fixed, and the angle of the declining 
sun, now streaming in, had enlarged it and cast the reflec- 
tion so that it hung in the space between the boy and the 
foremost row of the choir. Only a moment, then a little 
cloud floated by and the reflection passed, but the picture 
remained with him for many days. 

The congregation rose. The benediction was spoken 
and the Festival Dedication was over. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


7i 


CHAPTER IV 

The great throng poured forth from the church doors 
and spread itself over the green lawn and out into the 
street. 

No one wanted to get away quickly. Such a hand- 
shaking time; such a time for friendly greetings. Some 
had come from far away and had found it so good to be 
among the home folks once more. There was so much to 
talk over, so many questions and answers. Oh, it was so 
good to be here ! And the beautiful new church, and the 
wonderful organ, and oh, that boy, that wonderful boy that 
sang so like an angel. Who was he? Where did he come 
from? 

Jim and Mary Beaton were as busy as they could be 
answering questions and I doubt much whether they would 
have been any more proud of him had he been their very 
own. Margaret Raymond withdrew silently with her two 
little ones and many were the conjectures as to whom that 
silent, unassuming woman with the two beautiful children 
could be. For, as was her wont and the custom of her 
people, she sought to efface herself as much as she could. 

Alfred having made his exit from the building, and 
having found some kindred spirits, was at present out 
under the church shed, where Farmer Jim found him 
sometime later, exploiting the wonderful qualities of the 
bays with all of a boy’s freedom and familiarity. 

“ Here, you ! What you doin’ out here ? The Do- 
minie’s been looking all over for you. That organ man 


72 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

wanted to see you. Never mind now,” said he, as Alfred 
started off, “ they’re gone now. He’s goin’ to stay till next 
week, so he’ll see you ’fore he gets away. Can you untie 
Dandy while I fold up this blanket? ” 

Oh, that ride home! He sat on the front seat between 
Farmer Jim and Henry, and sometimes Farmer Jim let him 
drive and Dandy and Bess trotted along just the same as 
if Farmer Jim had been driving them, and when they got 
to his home he was out and over the wheel before Mrs. 
Beaton had a chance to scream at him that he’d, “ sure 
break his neck or leg or something!” You see she was 
awful good, but you see she’d never been a boy, so how 
could she know. Then he lifted little Margaret out and 
then he took the baby Beatrice down, but Henry had to 
hand mother out, for the baby kicked and screamed when 
he went to put her down, and they all laughed so and every- 
body was so happy. And that night he talked to mother all 
about it. And wasn’t it nice ! And oh, there were so many 
people there, and the lovely organ, why you just had to 
sing, you couldn’t help it. And he told mother how Mr. 
Eaton had looked up at him, and how it had made him 
smile — and oh, he most wished there was a festival every 
day; but, but then one must go to school, for one must 
learn all one could, for when one was a man — and so 
he rattled on, for he was only a boy; and then one baby 
would interrupt and then the other — and oh! he was so 
happy. 

The short evening drew to a close. Baby Beatrice 
had been prepared for bed. Mother had been real patient 
and finally she was fast asleep; then he wanted to show 
little Margaret all about how he rode the sorrel colt, and 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 73 

wouldn’t mother put her upon his back, and hold her fast 
by the arm just like Farmer Jim did with him? Then he 
would rear up just like the sorrel colt had, and then mother 
must catch little Margaret, just like Farmer Jim had caught 
him. And mother said, “ Oh, how foolish ! ” and smiled, 
and then he laughed, that rich gurgly laugh, that seemed 
to come from somewhere way down in you; and then 
mother smiled so at you with her eyes. 

And so he got down on the floor and mother put little 
Margaret on his back, and then he reared right up, just 
like the sorrel colt did, and she laughed, oh, how she 

laughed when she fell in mother’s arms, and Crash! 

Margaret Raymond, with a wild cry of alarm, caught the 
child to her, then stood as if frozen to the spot at the sight 
that met here eyes. 

Alfred sprung to his feet and faced the open door, a 
look of agonized horror upon his childish face. 

There, just outside the door, in the night, with the 
darkness behind him, and the light full on his face, stood 
John Raymond; his steel blue eyes blazing with drunken 
fury. 

For a moment Margaret Raymond’s brain reeled. The 
boy stood between her and the rum-infuriated man. The 
little one in her arms trembled and clutched closer to her. 

What should she do? What should she do? Should 
she attempt to place herself between them and so divert 
his attention to her? 

The little one in her arms was beginning to sob and 
cry. The boy did not move. 

“ Nish way ye have o’ treatin’ th’ old man,” he was 
going on, a malignant leer upon his bleared face. 


74 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The boy turned sick and faint but could not take his 
eyes from that loathsome sight. As the full meaning of 
the situation came over him his childish brain reeled; he 
tried to think of some way of escape. There was none. He 
never remembered anything like this before. Mother was 
back of him somewhere, but he did not dare to look. He 
did not dare to take his horror-stricken eyes away from 
those fiendish blue ones. 

“ Nish way y’ have o' treatin’ th’ old man.” Oh, the 
devilishness in that voice, “ thought y’d fool the old man ; 
yes, waited ’til th’ old man’s back was turned. Nish way 
t’ treat th’ old man.” 

Margaret Raymond hushed the child upon her breast 
and waited, watching. 

He lurched heavily into the door. “ Nish little boy, 
down t’ church singin’ ’salms an’ tunes wile ole man 
workin’ hard. Nish folks down t’ church, have nish liT 
boy singin’ tunes wile ol* man out workin’, nish liT boy.” 

Margaret Raymond moaned. 

“ Oh, you shut your mouth, old woman, I’ll 

attend to you later. Nish liT boy, I’ll fix your singing for 
you ! ” Quick as a flash he sprung forward and caught 
the terrified boy by his slender throat with both his huge 
hands, drew the ghastly little face up to his red bloated 
one, and then flung him from him with all his drunken fury. 
“You damned bastard!” 

So quick had been the move that his wife stood as if 
petrified; then as he started forward toward the prostrate 
form of the child she woke with a sudden mad fury. 
“John Raymond, stop!” Her voice rung like a trumpet, 
but the drink infuriated man continued to advance. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 75 

Quick as lightning she sprung forward to the table, 
caught the lighted lamp in her free hand and flung it with 
all the strength of her splendid body full in his face and 
chest. 

Whether the wild whirl of the lamp or the man’s 
breath, when it struck him, extinguished the flame, God 
only knows, but it was only the intervention of the hand 
of God himself that saved the life of the wretch that night. 

The force of the blow was so great that as the broken 
glass fell from him to the floor he staggered back swiftly 
to the open door. To save himself from falling he threw 
out both his hands. His left caught the doorpost while 
his right slid along the open door and finding no hold he 
whirled ’round out. The violence with which he swung 
out from the door loosed his left hand which precipitated 
him across the walk into the low, forked branches of a 
cherry tree. 

Catching, or being caught by them, he held on for a 
few moments, then, pulling himself upright, reeled off 
toward the road cursing as he went. 

Half dazed from the blow of the burning lamp 
against his chest and face, he staggered slowly on his 
drunken way back to the village. 

He had completed the work which had taken him 
away from home in much less time than had been ex- 
pected, but instead of going directly to his home had taken 
a somewhat roundabout way, and, stopping at different 
points along the way, had become quite intoxicated by the 
time he reached Bentwell, where he stopped to have a few 
drinks with some friendly(?) spirits. 

When he entered the bar-room of the village tavern 


76 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

only a few of the regular loungers were on hand, and the 

sight of him entering the door was the signal for a general 
greeting; as the events of the day, the dedicatory service 
at the church was still fresh in their minds ; so they, while 

none of them had been present, yet having heard the de- 

tails from others, now wished to be the first to congratulate 
him on the success of the boy, Alfred, thereby hoping to 
win his favor and get a few more drinks out of him. 

As he listened rather stupidly to their clamor, slowly 
the meaning of their words began to penetrate his rum 
deadened brain. 

“ What in ’r you talking 'bout ? ” said he roughly. 

They all hastened to give as glowing an account of the 
affair as they in their muddled condition could. 

“ What ! ” he almost yelled. “ And did that 

little dare to go and sing at that 

p’formance after I told him not to? Why, the 

I'll fix his singin' for him! I’ll break 

every bone in his body ! ” And with 

a volley of filthy oaths he rushed out of the room. 

This was the way he heard the news and come to be 
in such a drunken rage when he reached his home; and 
with what results we have already seen. 

Now he made his way back to the tavern, went up to 
the bar and ordered a stiff drink of whiskey, then he went 
off and sat by himself in a corner. 

One of his cronies went over to him and tried to 
draw him out, but after being roughly repulsed, with an 
oath, went away and left him to himself. 

He drank considerably, and when at last the landlord 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 77 

began closing up for the night he rose and slunk out into 
the night alone. 

While he sat there brooding over the events of the 
past few days his hatred toward the boy increased, and 
realizing that his wife had set his authority at naught, he 
now resolved to crush both at once, so his drunken brain 
began planning how he could wreak his vengeance on both, 
and still keep himself clear of the law, for well he knew 
there were those in the community who would be only too 
glad to get at him. 

That his wife would never speak he well knew; also 
the boy could be very reticent; so as he came near to the 
house he began to go very cautiously; he opened the gate 
very carefully and made his way around the house, walk- 
ing on the grass. 

What hellish scheme was in his mind? 

Softly he went up to the door. It was closed. There 
was no light anywhere. 

Carefully he lifted the latch and tiptoed in. 

He stopped and listened. 

No sound. 

He took another step. His foot struck against a piece 
of glass. 

At that sound all the hellish fury in him broke loose, 
and screaming like a madman he rushed across the room 
to the sleeping room and flung himself bodily across the 
bed, beating with his arms and fists with a wild fury. 
For a minute he continued, uttering wild fiendish yells; 
then, as he met with no resistance, he realized that the bed 
was empty. 

Springing to his feet, with a frightful oath, he started 


78 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

for the door, and crashed into the chest that stood across 
the room. 

Over on the floor he went, knocking over a small table 
in his fall. 

For a moment he lay still ; then becoming aware of a 
light in the room he looked up to see Farmer Jim Beaton, 
with his man Henry, standing at the door, lantern in hand, 
while just back of them were the faces of two or three 
other neighbors. 

“John, what does this mean?” said Jim Beaton, as 
he flashed his light over the disordered room; then seeing 
the tumbled bed he hurried over to it his face ghastly with 
horror. 

For a moment his eyes refused to see, then as his 
vision cleared he gave a great gasp of relief when he dis- 
covered that the bed was empty. 

John in the meantime had risen and stood sullenly by, 
the other men and Henry filling the door. 

“ John Raymond,” said Farmer Jim again sternly, 
“what does this mean?” Where are your wife and 
children? ” 

Raymond kept sullenly silent. 

“ Boys,” said Farmer Jim, “ you stay here and take 
care of him while Henry and I search the house.” 

Raymond started to protest. 

One of the men stepped up to him and looking him 
full in the face said, “ John Raymond, set down and keep 
still or it will be the worse for you.” 

Raymond glared at him for a moment, his face twitch- 
ing with fury, but seeing the determined faces looking 
into his, flung himself upon the chest. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 79 

Meanwhile Farmer Jim and Henry started on their 
search. 

As the little staircase which led up to Alfred’s room 
was the only means of communicating with the upper part 
of the house they stopped at the foot and called softly. 

Receiving no reply, Farmer Jim spoke again. Still 
no answer. 

Hurrying up the stairs they made their way through 
the two upper rooms. 

All was quiet, all in order. Alfred’s little bed was 
untouched. All of his little things were in their usual place. 
Only they noticed the little recess where his clothes were 
wont to hang was uncovered. 

On the floor at the foot of his bed were his little worn 
school shoes with the stockings lying, as if flung down, 
near by, for Alfred in his haste to dress that day had 
hastily cast them aside. 

A sudden fear went through the great, strong, loving 
heart of Farmer Jim at the sight of that empty bed and 
those little boyish things which he had come to know and 
love so well. 

“ Henry! ” said he, " they’re gone! ” 

They hurried down stairs and made a quick search 
through the lower part of the house; no trace of them 
anywhere. 

“ Boys,” said Farmer Jim, as he came back to where 
the rest of the party were, “ they’re gone ! ” 

“ Gone ! ” they repeated, staring blankly at him. 
" What do you mean ? Gone where ? ” 

“I don’t know,” said he. “The boy’s bed has not 


8o My Land. My Country. My Home. 

been touched; this bed was not disturbed until this brute 
evidently threw himself upon it.” 

John Raymond looked stupidly about him. He was 
trying to understand. There was something working 
against him here that he had not counted on, something 
that made him begin to feel afraid. 

“ The barn ! The horse ! ” he exclaimed. 

Henry hurried out, and after a little returned shaking 
his head. “ There is nothing there, at least nothing has 
been disturbed,” said he. 

But where could they have gone? Henry, coming 
from the village, had chanced to hear from some of John 
Raymond’s cronies the threats he had made earlier in the 
evening, and hurrying home and telling Farmer Jim had 
been dispatched with the report to some of the other 
neighbors requesting them to join in forming this party, as 
they all had become wearied of Raymond’s cruelty to his 
family, and particularly to the boy. 

There had been a hearty response and it was with fear 
and consternation that they had heard the uproar when 
they had first arrived, thinking that he had already inflicted 
irreparable injury to those helpless ones. And yet, while 
all felt shocked at the disappearance, it was with a feeling 
of relief that, temporarily at least, they were out of the 
reach of this brutal husband and father. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” said Henry, and he hurried out of 
the door and out to the road. Holding his light low down 
he soon discovered in the dust of the road the footprints 
of the woman and boy going down the road. 

He rushed back into the house. In his haste he 
stepped upon the broken lamp. He stopped and looked 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 8t 

down. “ Hey ! Come here ! ” said he. They all gathered 
round while he examined the broken lamp. 

“ John Raymond,” said Jim Beaton, “ what does this 
mean ? ” 

John Raymond hung his head, and then they noticed 
that his clothing was saturated with oil. 

“ Boys,” said Henry, “ they’ve gone down the road 
toward our house. I found their tracks in the dust ! ” 

Out of the house all hurried leaving Raymond behind 
in the dark. 

“ Careful there, boys,” said Henry, “ let me take the 
lead. I’ll show you where they are.” And leading the 
way he soon found the footprints again. Then they moved 
along, holding their lights low down, and so followed the 
way taken by Margaret Raymond and Alfred earlier in 
the evening. 

John Raymond followed along behind; he dared not 
remain in that house alone ; it was filled with awful shapes 
and he was afraid. 

Those lights ahead. They drew him. Oh, how he 
feared that vague shadowy little company, yet he could 
not tear himself from it, so he followed on behind. What 
would they find? He was beginning to shiver. 

Mary Beaton, standing at her window watching, saw 
that little company of lights coming toward her down the 
road; she had been in a very fever of anxiety. Would 
they never come? What had they found? 

She went out and down to the road. 

How slovjv they come ! What made them come in 
that manner? Why did they form two lines and walk so 
far apart with their lanterns so low down? 


82 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ Oh, why don’t they hurry ? Why don’t they hurry ? ” 
murmured the woman. 

She could wait no longer. She started up the road to 
meet them. “ Jim ! Jim ! ” she called. 

“ Yes, mother,” said Farmer Jim. 

“Jim! why don’t you hurry? What is the matter?” 
And she started forward again. 

“Wait, mother,” said he. “Wait, don’t come any 
further.” Then, as he came up, said, “They’re gone.” 

“ Gone ! ” echoed she. “ Gone ! Where? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said he, “ they were gone when we got 
there; Henry found their tracks in the dust; see here? 
There they go. Margaret and the boy. Don’t come too 
close, we’re trying to follow them.” 

“ Oh ! ” she shrilled, “ and where is that brute ? ” she 
continued, as she looked out in the dark. 

Now the men with the lights stood between her and 
John Raymond, and she did not see him, and so she did not 
see the look of black shame upon his face as he shrunk 
into the deeper shadows. 

But the party were moving carefully forward again 
on up the hill; slowly they went; then they found where 
the boy had stopped ; the tracks led to the side of the road. 
Then on again. On through the night and the dark they 
went; step by step they followed that pitiful line of foot- 
steps on, on, until finally they came to the railroad. 

They crossed over to the other side; carefully they 
held their lights low down expecting to find the broken 
thread of the trail. 

Only the dusty road. 

They stopped. Then they went a little farther, being 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 83 

careful not to disturb the dust of the road. No sign. 
They went a little farther. Still nothing. 

Then they went back. There were the tracks; but 
look ! They had not noticed at first the tracks turned 
toward the side of the road toward the south-bound track. 

Their faces were gray with horror as they looked 
toward each other in the dim lantern light. What was 
just out of sight there in the darkness and the night? 
They dared not think. 

John Raymond, still following along in the rear, heard 
their low-voiced parley and he shivered as with an ague. 

“ Boys,” said Jim Beaton, and his voice shook as he 
spoke, “ they’re out there somewhere.” 

A groan was the only response. 

Their faces blanched; for on the still night air sud- 
denly burst a long, terrible scream. Instinctively they 
stepped closer together. 

’Twas only the whistle of the great express blowing 
for the crossing, but coming upon them at the present 
moment it had startled them mightily. 

On she came with a mighty roar. Her great head- 
light shone far ahead and illuminated the track for nearly a 
half mile. Eagerly they looked. There was nothing in 
sight. 

Now she was fairly upon them. They stepped back 
as she rushed by with a mighty roar. 

God pity anything that should be in her path to-night. 

On down the track she sped. A moment and she was 
only a twinkling of lights in the distance. 

Down the track they searched. No sign anywhere. 


84 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

They were gone, leaving not a single trace whereby they 
might be followed. 

In the gray dawn of early morning the little search- 
ing party returned to their homes. Gray of face, gray of 
heart ; all hopes gone. 

With the full light of day new search was made. 
Fresh inquiries. Nothing. 

A few days later a gang of laborers left a little worn 
bonnet at the station. It had been found along the track 
above the road. 

Jim Beaton carried it home to his wife. 

It was the little bonnet that Margaret had worn the 
day of the festival ; Mary Beaton remembered it, for it was 
so out of style. John Raymond, or rather the John Ray- 
monds, must needs clothe the families of the rum sellers, 
but the Margaret Raymonds — well, they must go without, 
or — oh, why talk of it. You all understand. 

About a week later a small package was left at the 
little station. It had been found far up the line, well up 
toward Bart-Haven, and hearing of this mysterious dis- 
appearance it was sent down to the station near Bentwell. 
Jim Beaton brought it home to his wife. 

For a time she held in but made no move to open it. 

Finally he said, “Aren’t you going to open it, mother ? ” 

She looked up into his face, her face drawn with pain, 
and ghastly white. 

“ Jim, Jim,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “I — I’m 
afraid.” 

He reached down and took up the little bundle, slipped 
the string from off one end, then opened it. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 85 

When Mary Beaton heard the rattling of the opening 
paper she covered her face with her hands. 

The rattling stopped. The paper fell to the floor. 
She felt something laid across her lap, something that felt 
soft and clingy. 

She heard Jim catch his breath with a fierce hiss; then 
she felt his hand upon her shoulder. A moment later she 
heard the door close. She was alone. 

She dropped her hands down to her lap. They touched 
something soft. Something that thrilled her through with 
an awful agony. She lifted it to her arms. She pressed 
it to her face. What was it? Only a little worn suit of 
boy’s clothes. That was all. They were not much, but 
they were the best he had. And as Mary Beaton held 
them close pressed to her bosom, again she felt the little 
warm pulsing body of the beautiful star-eyed child she 
had held in her arms for the first time twelve years before. 

Down by the barn Jim Beaton stood looking out over 
the great meadow toward the old rail fence. There was a 
little path coming up from the old rail fence, and as in a 
vision he saw the flash of a pair of little bared white feet 
and legs all wet and glistening with the cold morning dew. 
The glow of a beautiful boyish face. The flash of a pair 
of grand gray eyes. Old Shep came up beside the man 
and looked out along the path and whined. The man 
neither moved or spoke. It was evening time and there 
was no light. 


The next morning Jim Beaton drove over to the village 
and on his return he stopped at the home of John Ray- 


86 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

mond. He found him in the barn busied at putting things 
in order. 

“ Good morning, John,” said he, to which the other 
replied with a surly nod, while a dark flush burned below 
his eyes. 

“ Mary wants to see you over to the house,” he went 
on, “ she has got something of — ” He stopped for a 
moment while John Raymond looked eagerly up. “ Some- 
thing of the boy’s and she would like to know what she 
shall do with it. I have the rig at the gate; will you go 
now ? ” 

The other nodded. 

Silently they passed out of the building, John Ray- 
mond stopping to close and fasten the door. As they 
passed the house he shivered and Jim Beaton saw that he 
avoided looking in that direction. 

In silence they took their seats in the waiting vehicle 
and no word passed between them during the drive. 

Upon reaching the end of the drive, Farmer Jim said 
briefly, “ You will find her up at the house.” 

John Raymond walked slowly up the path to the house. 
Every impulse of his wretchedly selfish nature urged him 
to resistance; to refuse to go any farther; to turn back; 
yet at every step the words “ She has something of the 
boy’s ” beckoned him with an irresistible force. He 
wanted to turn back, yet he dared not. He wanted to rush 
away. And why did he not? 

In the glaring light of day the whole wretched scene 
came before him and he was afraid. 

He looked up and saw Mary Beaton standing just 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 87 

before him in the open door. She spoke to him, and her 
voice sounded low and sad. 

Her face was pale and her eyes were the eyes of one 
who, looking into an open grave, are trying to catch one 
more glimpse of that which has passed out and beyond, 
and seeing that look he followed her silently into the house. 

Along the silent old hall she led him to the large roomy 
old sitting room. 

Across the room from the chair where she motioned 
him to sit was a large old-fashioned recess that contained 
within its roomy depths a bed. It was covered with a 
snowy counterpane and upon it something was placed that 
was covered with a newspaper. 

At the first look he had given a sudden start, as an 
awful thought flashed through his mind, then he quickly 
recovered himself when he saw that whatever it was it 
made no impression upon the bed. 

He turned and looked at Mrs. Beaton, who had taken 
a seat at his left near the foot of the bed. 

She turned and looked toward the covered object upon 
the bed, and for a little time seemed to have forgotten him 
entirely. 

The steady tick of the old hall clock came in through 
the open door and it made him nervous; he had always 
been a selfish, surly fellow, and now finding himself so 
completely checkmated, it gave him an entirely new, and 
at the same time very disagreeable feeling. 

At last she turned to him and spoke. Her voice was 
low, but there was something in it that troubled him. 

Before there had been something of the shrew in the 
voice and manner of Mary Beaton, but all of that was 


88 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

gone now, and in the place of it there was something that 
made him afraid. 

He thought he knew Mary Beaton, but this woman 
was a stranger to him. A woman that seemed to know 
him better than he knew himself. A woman that was an- 
alyzing ; taking him all apart, as it were, and he was seeing 
how rotten and filthy those parts were. She was speaking, 
“John Raymond, I suppose you have wondered what I 
have to say to you and why I have sent for you.” 

His head bent low, but he made no reply, for that deep, 
low voice was going on. “ You know they had found the 
bonnet Margaret wore up along the track?” 

He nodded. 

“ And yet you never came near to claim it. I kept it 
for I wanted to see if you would come for it, but you did 
not. Last night they brought this — ” and with a quick 
movement she drew the paper away and as John Ray- 
mond looked up quickly his frightened vision beheld the 
blurred outlines of what at first looked like a little form. 

He sprung to his feet and took a few steps forward, 
then he stopped. 

Mary Beaton, too, had risen and was watching him. 

Then he saw the little worn suit of clothes which had 
been Alfred’s, and how at the top was placed the bonnet 
which his wife had worn, arranged in that manner had 
given him a mighty shock. 

He went back to his chair and sat down. 

“ John,” said she, “ I want to know what took place the 
night you came home from Glenmont.” 

He threw back his head and made as if to pro- 
test, but she was going on and that something in her voice 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 89 

swept all the resistance away from him. She never once 
removed her eyes from him and fascinated he could not 
turn his gaze away. “ We know/’ continued she, “ how 
you had forbidden Alfred to sing at the dedicatory ser- 
vice simply to satisfy your own devilish spleen. Char- 
lotte Merriam found the whole thing out that day at 
school. 

“ Do not think that she made any endeavor to pry 
into the affairs of your family, for she did not; but it has 
been no secret for a long time the brutal, beastly manner 
you have treated that boy and his mother. 

“ Henry heard of the threats you made that night from 
some of the men who were in your company, and it is 
known that you went to your home fully intending to wreak 
your hellish spite upon the boy and his mother for seem- 
ingly having disobeyed your orders. 

“ That you committed some outrageous act is also 
known, for the broken lamp was found on the floor, and 
your clothing were saturated with oil. A washbasin of 
water was found upon the table, and you, in your drunken 
stupor, was heard to say, 4 Threw the lamp at me ! Threw 
the lamp at me! I’ll fix her! ’ Now I want to know just 

what took place. I want to know ” and her voice 

rung out with a terrible menace as she bent fiercely toward 
him. “ I want to know why she threw the lamp at you.” 

“ I ,” the words seemed dragged from him as if 

by some unseen force. “ I told him I’d 

fix him , and I grabbed I grabbed 

>f 

The woman waited, her head bent forward, her hands 


90 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

tightly clasped across her panting chest. She never took 
her eyes from the man’s face. 

“ I grabbed him by the throat , 

and I choked him .” 

“Ah h h a wild scream rent the air. 

Like a catapult Mary Beaton hurled herself forward. 
John Raymond, seated, was entirely unprepared and so 
perfectly helpless. 

Like an infuriated animal she flung her magnificent 
body upon him, catching his throat in her fine strong hands. 
Pressing her thumbs hard and holding the neck in her 
fingers with her knee pressed upon his chest. 

“You brute! You beast!” she screamed. It seemed 
to her that she went mad. She held him as in a vice. 
She saw his lips open. His horror-stricken eyes looking 
into hers. His tongue began to protrude. At sight of that 
she drew him slowly toward her, and then flung him from 
her with all the force of her maddened body. 

She staggered back and leaned, panting, against the 
wall at the foot of the recess. 

When she made her fierce attack upon him, John Ray- 
mond saw again the little room in his home. In the fore- 
ground stood the slender, horror-stricken boy. Back of 
him, by the table, stood his white-faced wife holding the 
trembling child clasped close in her arms. He saw himself 
spring forward and catch the terrified child by the throat, 
and then he felt a sickening, deadly, choking sensation ; it 
seemed that he died a hundred deaths ; he saw himself fling 
the boy from him. He felt himself falling, falling into 
unknown depths ; and then he felt himself strike the floor. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 91 

For a few minutes he lay too dazed and bewildered to 
move. 

At length he stirred. Then he looked up, Mary Beaton 
was watching him, a deadly light still blazing in her eyes. 

“ Get up,” said she. 

He rose slowly to his feet, every power of resistance 
gone out of him. 

“ Sit down.” Her voice cut the air now like the blade 
of a knife. 

“You choked that boy?” 

He nodded. 

“ Go on,” came through her clenched teeth. He 
shuddered. 

“ Then I flung him back, he went past his mother.” 
Mary Beaton’s had twitched and at sight of it he cowered 
down. “ I started forward, she called me to stop ; I went 
on, and then she picked up the lighted lamp and threw it 
full in my face.” Mary Beaton was terribly excited, yet 
controlled herself. “ It drove me backward out of the 
house, and I went back to the village, and when I came 
back they were gone. The rest you know.” 

“ Yes; the rest I know,” said she, “ but there are some 
other things I want to know ; Jim Beaton and I have been 
busy ; we have made inquiries all up along the line, but no 
trace of them has been found. That they must have gotten 
away upon some train, is reasonably sure; yet no one has 
seen or heard anything from them. Jim learned that a big 
freight, in charge of Jerry Bond, met with a breakdown, 
and held up the Bentwell crossing that night for about an 
hour, but the entire crew maintained that they saw nothing 
of them at all, and God only knows where they are. 


92 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


“Jim and I have been over to Westport, your and 
Margaret's old home, but no one has heard anything of 
them there; we went to see Mr. Arnold, the neighbor 
who has charge of the property left to Margaret by her 
father and mother, and he was much distressed to learn of 
the affair. 

“ While there I learned many things about you and 
Margaret and I cannot understand how a girl, reared as 
Margaret Rathmore was, ever consented to place her life 
in the hands of such a man as you. For in spite of the 
fact that your parents were Quakers, and very excellent 
people, you have anything but a good reputation in that 
place. Also, it is no secret that she refused always to 
listen to your wooing, or in fact to have anything to do 
with you, and then to suddenly, after the death of her 
parents, marry you and leave, was a great surprise to all 
who knew her. 

“ How any woman could consent to link her life with 
such a beast as you were and have been, I cannot under- 
stand. That you must have used some underhand means 
seems very likely.” 

At the implied imputation the man flushed, and at the 
taunt he made one last effort to regain the mastery of 
himself. 

“ Oh, well, you needn't think she was such a saint," 
said he. “ The boy, Alfred Raymond, as you call him, is 
not my son, he is ." 

Like a flash Mary Beaton was on her feet. “ John 
Raymond! Stop where you are! Don't you dare to 
breathe one word against the name of that woman ! " cried 
she. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 93 

Something in her face froze the vile taunt upon his 
lips; well for him that he did not repeat the filthy epithet 
he had hurled at Alfred Raymond, to her. 

“ I went to her home,” continued he, after a few 
moments, “ where I found her with the boy, but from 
whence he came or who he was she refused absolutely to 
tell. I so wrought upon her fears, as I pointed out the 
peculiar situation into which she had placed herself, that I 
finally persuaded her to marry me, promising that we would 
remove to some distant part of the country where no one 
would know or suspect anything about the boy. When I 
found that she was so bound up in the child, I came to 
hate him, until it seemed that the greater my dislike grew, 
the more she loved him; when my two little girls were 
born, I thought she would now turn from the boy and love 
my children; but she did not. And I hated him all the 
more. Had he disliked my children I would have been 
pleased, but he did not ; the more he loved them the more I 
hated him .” 

“ There, John Raymond, that will do,” said Mary 
Beaton, who had listened attentively, but as he began to 
talk of his hatred, she interrupted him, “ that is enough of 
such talk as that ; for you may as well know that such can 
only lower your contemptible character lower than ever if 
such a thing were possible. 

“And you can sit here and boast of such a thing to me 
after having shown yourself the miserable cur that you are, 
and then try to build up any semblance of manhood upon 
your miserable treatment of Margaret Raymond and that 
boy. Oh, God! if I must say such a thing! if you could 
only realize what a contemptible cur you are! Oh, that 


94 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


you could see yourself as you are, in all your hideous naked- 
ness, how you would despise yourself/’ 

Her words cut like a whip, and his head went down 
before her in shame as she continued, “And such women 
as Margaret Rathmore get such brutes and beasts for hus- 
bands as you, and bear with your brutalities and infideli- 
ties and make no complaint. You make me think of a 
story that I read the other day, a story of that splendid 
thing they call 4 man/ ” He winced. “ Yes,” she con- 
tinued bitterly, “ man.” 

“ It was winter. Cold, ice, and snow. A little band 
of Indian women with their helpless children were en- 
deavoring to make their way to a place of safety. All day 
they had tried to evade the deadly bullets of the soldiers, 
for their lives and for the lives of their little ones. All 
to no avail. They were being slowly hemmed in. Then 
up rose one from among them and taking the blanket from 
off her head and shoulders, said, as she wrapped it around 
the shivering form of her little one, ‘ woman of my people, 
there is no way of escape, no hope. Let us stand up and 
show these men that if we are to die, we are not afraid to 
go out upon the silent trail alone/ And suiting the action 
to the word, she turned her splendid bared bosom and 
arms, in the bitter icy cold, to the pitiless balls of the 
enemy. 

“And so again is it being done in this, our splendid day 
and age. 

“ The noble women and helpless little children, out in 
the bitter storms of adversity are being besieged upon all 
sides by the deadly missiles of that great curse, rum. By 
the pitiless weapons of unbridled lust temper, and brutal- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 95 

ity, until driven to the last ditch, the grand motherhood 
and sisterhood of our race are standing with bared, naked 
breasts to the deadly onslaught, saying by every act, in 
every protest, * women of our people, since we must die, 
let us stand and show this savage horde that we dare go 
out upon the last, silent trail, honorable, pure, and true 
women, alone and unafraid.” 

“ But,” and her voice rang out deep, clear, and reson- 
ant, infinitely sad. “ But the bitt’rest part is, that among 
that vast army of oppressors are those who should be our 
protectors. Our fathers, our husbands, our brothers and 
our sons. For every John Raymond there is a Margaret 
Raymond, an Alfred Raymond, a Margaret Raymond, and 
a Beatrice Raymond, all sacrificed to the selfish appetite of 
one man.” 

Mary Beaton stood, and the burning words rolled from 
her lips like molten flame. To John Raymond she seemed 
like some prophetess of old, and he shuddered as the 
hideous picture her words called up unfolded before his 
eyes. 

His head remained sunken upon his chest. All the life 
and vitality seemed to have gone out of him. All his 
wretched life came up before him and cast him, as it were, 
a naked, festering soul upon some unknown desolate shore. 
Oh, how he wished for some thing under which he could 
creep for shelter. 

His whole miserable past stood out in the broad glare 
of the truth as it came from the lips of this woman, and 
seemed to overwhelm him. 

He was silent Dumb. Condemned. 


g6 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Again she spoke. She was talking to him. " What 
are you going to do now ? ” she asked him. 

He shook his head. He had no speech. 

“ Have you no plans at all ? ” 

Again he shook his head. 

“ You cannot go on living where you are,” said she. 

Again he made a negative movement. 

“ Listen,” she continued, “ Jim and I have been talking 
the affair over; you cannot stay where you are; Jim needs 
another man ; will you come here with us ? ” 

John Raymond looked up. Surprise, incredulity, 
astonishment upon his face. 

She saw the look and went on. “ Yes, I mean what 
I say. I know that you are surprised, but not more than I 
am at myself ; I am a changed woman. Listen, John Ray- 
mond, and mark well what I say : I am a barren, desolate 
woman. God has decreed that no little lives shall enter in 
to bless mine; and Jim Beaton and I have broken the 
bitter ashen crust together, and uncomplainingly. When 
I first saw Margaret Raymond and her boy, a new spirit 
and hope was born in my soul. In my heart that boy be- 
came as my own, and I know that Jim had at last found 
that also which satisfied in part his great longing; and we 
were happy in the love we bore that boy, and the love we 
felt he had for us. Although the bitter unkindnesses in- 
dulged in by you toward him has caused us many a tear. 

“ When your little daughters were born I then fully 
realized what must have been the feeling of the barren 
woman of Israel when she was willing to bear the mother 
upon her knees, for the child that might thus be born in 
her life. And in like manner I bore them in my heart as 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 97 

my own. But you have bereft us of children and them of 
a home. We have tasted of the waters of the fountain of 
childhood, albeit it was that of another, and we are changed. 
Whereas we would have cast you out, now, for the sake 
of them, we open our house and home to you and will 
endeavor to do you good. But remember, not one drop 
of that accursed stuff must pass your lips so long as you 
abide with us. 

“ Since that little suit of clothes was placed in my hands 
last night, I have been standing beside a little open grave, 
wherein lie entombed a childhood slain, and a youth foully 
murdered ; and we are left desolate and sad.” 

In the presence of the man, clothed as it were with a 
stately, mournful dignity, she went to the bed and taking 
up the things lying there she carried them across the room 
to a large old-fashioned bureau, and opening a deep drawer 
she very carefully and tenderly laid them within. 

The man watched with a strongly fascinated gaze as 
she stood looking down as into an open coffin ; then slowly 
she covered them, pushed the drawer to and locking it, 
turned away. 

A few days later John Raymond, with the help of Jim 
Beaton and his wife, removed his things from the deserted 
house and carried them to the big old Beaton house, where 
they were carefully put away in a large upper room. 

Mary Beaton and Jim passed hand in hand through 
their dark Gethsemane as she took the little worn garments 
of Alfred and his two little sisters and put them away for 
the last time. And Jim Beaton nearly broke down when 
he found a little pair of worn, copper-toed boots and, 
carried them down to his bedroom, where he placed them 


9 b 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


in the rack by his ; the last thing he sees at night, and the 
first thing in the morning; and daily there goes up a 
prayer from that great silent heart, that God will lead 
those little feet aright and bring the lost ones home at last. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


99 


CHAPTER V 

Inside the door, after John Raymond had staggered 
away, was heard the low sobbing of the little child. 

Margaret Raymond stood for a moment listening to 
the retreating footsteps of the drunken man ; then she hur- 
riedly found a match and lighted a tallow candle. Stilling 
the frightened child in her arms she hurried over to the 
prostrate boy. Running her hand over him she soon ascer- 
tained that no bones were broken ; fortunately, during the 
play in the earlier part of the evening, a pillow had been 
thrown to the floor, and this it was that had helped to break 
his fall. 

He lay stunned and dazed. She brought a basin of 
cold water and bathed his head and face which slowly 
caused him to revive; after a little she tried to have him 
swallow some, but the effort seemed to give him consider- 
able pain. 

After a little she raised him to his feet and placed 
him in a chair. 

“ Mother, mother ! ” Oh, that horrible rasping sound 
again, only intensified a hundred fold. “ Mother,” wailed 
he, “ he will kill us ! Oh, what will we do ! What will we 

do r” 

“ Listen, Boy, can you stand on your feet? ” The boy 
stood up. “ Where do you feel bad ? ” 

“ Oh, I feel so sick and dizzy,” moaned he. 

" Do you think you could go up to your room ? ” said 


she. 


IOO 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


“ But if he should come back,” said the boy, but she 
interrupted him. 

“ Listen,” said she, “ can you go up to your room and 
get your good clothes, and put them in a small bundle ? ” 

“ But mother, you .” 

“ Don’t stop to talk, but do as mother says,” said she. 

She went with him up the stair, carrying the candle 
in one hand and the little child in her arm ; took down the 
things, and showed him how to make them into a small 
bundle; then, after lighting his little bed-room lamp, she 
returned to the living room. 

First she soothed the little one in her arms, then she 
quickly gathered together a few needful things, and made 
them up into a small, neat package. 

Then she went to an old chest that had been her 
mother’s, which was stored with many treasured keepsakes, 
and finding a package of money, she securely fastened it 
in the waist of her dress. Money that she had earned with 
her needle that her husband knew nothing of. 

Next she took up the little sleeping child, and without 
disturbing her, dressed her warmly and carefully ; then she 
dressed the little Margaret more warmly. In the mean- 
time the boy had come down from his room, bringing his 
little lamp with him. 

He looked at his mother with questioning, wondering 
eyes. He had not heard the last vile epithet John Ray- 
mond had hurled at him, but his mother had; and that 
broke the last frail thread that bound her to him. 

He had sworn to love, honor, and cherish. He had 
outraged and broken all three. Henceforth, her life and the 
lives and safety of her children must be her first thought. 


My Land. My Country . My Home. 


101 


What? You condemn her hasty act, gentle reader? 

But are you in condition to condemn? 

I would ask you to have a care how you pass judg- 
ment; for it may be that you are equally guilty with the 
John Raymonds of the world. 

You know that we are moving so rapidly in our ad- 
vancement; we are so humane; so very humane that we 
had to abolish the whipping post; it was so inhuman, you 
know. But of course there's nothing inhuman when a 
great, strong, rum-crazed beast of a man raises his hand 
against his wife, the mother of his children, the woman 
whom he has sworn, before God's holy altar, to love, honor, 
and cherish. Think of it! Sworn to love, honor, and 
cherish; and she bears the burden of a broken body the 
rest of her days. When he will break the bodies of his 
weak, frail little children, so that we look upon their little 
crippled forms at every step of the way. What do you 
call this, oh, ye very tender-hearted ones? 

You say that we are living in an advanced age. Yes, 
it is a glorious advancement, when it is made over the 
ruined bodies of noble women; over the broken bodies of 
innocent children. 

Somewhere I have read that the indirect is as great 
and real as the direct. If that is so, how do you, oh, you 
who lust so for gain, that you raise great, beautiful crops 
of tobacco, because the fertility of your soil permits it; of 
course you sell the filthy stuff off from your premises, 
because you would not have it around and the money of 
course, it is clean; tell me, how do you reconcile that 
with your conscience, and your creed? Have a care. 

And you, who have great vineyards and press out the 


102 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

juice of the grape — Oh, you sell the stuff away? You 
wouldn’t have the wretched stuff around, because “ Wine 
is a mocker and strong drink is raging.” Oh, is it? I’m 
glad to learn that. 

The money though, it is clean? 

And you stand in the house of God and you say long 
prayers and you quote scripture; and you read beautiful 
illustrations in golden tones, and the world admires and 
worships you, at times. 

But what about whited sepulchers? 

Do you mean to tell me that it would be any more 
inhuman to strap that man up to a post, and bare his back, 
and give him forty good lashes which would only hurt his 
body for a few hours, than it is for that woman or that 
child to go with a broken body for the rest of a lifetime? 
Again, I say to you, have a care. 

And you who talk of the working of the Holy Spirit 
on the heart, and wear sanctimonious faces and then go 
and set yourselves against a bar and drink and influence 
the manufacture and sale. 

And you who hold your heads so high and virtuous 
in your own community and do, like a thief in the night, 
sneak away under cover of the dark that you may indulge 
your degraded appetites and then hold up your hands in 
protest, and lower your contemptible souls to that degraded 
pitch that you can find no higher aim in life than to be 
foul or besmirch the name of a good man, or the character 
of a pure woman. Remember that 

“The mill of God grinds slowly, 

Yet it grinds exceeding small; 

With patience stands He waiting, 

With exactness, grinds He all.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 103 

She bade the boy put on his coat and hat and gave 
him the sleeping child, then she took up the little Margaret, 
after wrapping her, covered her head, put on her own bon- 
net and shawl, and took up her package. Extinguishing 
the lights, and leading the way, she passed out of the house, 
closed the door and, without looking back, took her way 
out of the yard into the road toward Farmer Jim Beaton’s. 

Down the dusty road she went as fast as she dared 
go with the injured and ladened boy. As they came to 
Mr. Beaton’s house and were passing the barns there was a 
slight stir in the stable. 

The boy murmured in a low voice, “ Mother,” and 
stopped. Oh, how that sound beat in upon his little boyish 
heart. Every animal in that stable was so dear to him, and 
now he was going away and something within him told 
him that he would never see them again. When they had 
left his home he had had no feeling of regret, for there he 
had known so much sorrow, but here, oh, here he loved 
everything on Farmer Jim Beaton’s place and he knew 
everything loved him; there was Farmer Jim, and Mrs. 
Beaton, and Henry, and Shep, and for the first time the 
tears rolled down over his little wan face and he thought 
that his heart would break. 

After a little he took up his weary way, toiling slowly 
up the hill that began to ascend from Farmer Jim’s barn. 
Presently Margaret Raymond noticed that all was not right 
with the boy; from her abstraction she was recalled by the 
little sobbing sounds that were coming from him with every 
intake of his little chest. 

She stopped short. “Boy, what is it?” she asked. 

“ My arm,” was the reply, “ it hurts me so where 


104 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

where I fell, and it seems as if I could not hold her much 
longer. Oh, mother! What will we do? What will we 
do ? ” The childish voice near broke with the agony. 

Quickly she dropped her bundle and took the sleeping 
child from him; then finding a seat along the road she 
bade the trembling boy to bring the package she had 
dropped, to her. 

Laying the sleeping little one across her lap and still 
holding the other sleeping child upon her arm, with her 
now freed right hand she opened the bundle and, after a 
little search, found a small gray shawl that had been her 
mother's. 

Laying the sleeping child from her arm along side the 
babe upon her lap, she made a little loop in the center of 
the shawl by folding it cornerwise, then laid the sleeping 
babe in it. Then she brought one end up over the boy’s 
left shoulder, passing the other end over his right arm and 
bringing it up over the back of the same shoulder; then 
she adjusted it to his arms and fastened it, making thereby 
a little swinging cot which relieved the hurt arm almost 
entirely. 

“ There, Boy, isn’t that much better ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, mother,” he replied, “ now I can carry her real 
easy. 

Then she raised the sleeping child up from her knee, 
and taking up her own and the boy’s package they resumed 
their weary march through the dark and the dust. 

After a long walk, without meeting anyone, they came 
in sight of the railway that lay about five miles from their 
home. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 105 

Now when Margaret Raymond left her home she had 
no plan in her mind as to what course she would pursue. 

Her one idea was to get away from her husband as 
quick as possible, for the safety of her children and prin- 
cipally on account of the boy. 

She knew the deadly hatred John had for him and so 
for that reason she resolved at once not to place his life 
or limb in any greater jeopardy whatever. Since John had 
seemingly determined to wreck his own life, she could not 
understand wherein it was her duty to allow him to wreck 
theirs also, and so to that end she had pursued this course, 
and that quickly. 

Now, as she came in sight of the little station, the 
thought to escape by that way flashed into her mind ; then 
quickly she remembered that the little waystation was 
closed early in the evening, and that nothing stopped there 
until morning. Also she realized that were she to attempt 
to remain there through the night her husband would, un- 
doubtedly, on his return, endeavor to find them; that in 
his present condition he would leave no means in his power 
untried; so she decided to press on and trust whatever 
chances came. 

As she came nearer she saw that a large freight engine 
was standing far up the track ; and coming still nearer, she 
could discern the long freight train stretched out along the 
way, while far down the track, as her weary eyes swept 
the black forbidding line, she could see the lighted caboose. 

Approaching now quite near the seemingly deserted 
spot, she could hear men’s voices, and, stopping to listen, 
she was soon able to learn that some kind of an accident 
had occurred which they were hastily endeavoring to repair. 


106 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

How long she would have to wait she had no means of 
learning, and not wishing to be discovered, she turned with 
the half-fainting boy and his burden down the southbound 
track, intending to go around the waiting train. 

“ It’s an ill wind indeed that blows no one some good/' 
and the circumstance of the closed station and cleared 
track, which meant hours delay, also proved her great pro- 
tection; for there were no down trains, else this wretched 
little group of houseless, homeless wanderers must have 
been hurled into eternity without a moment’s warning. 
“ Surely God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.” 

On through the night and the dark she staggered and 
stumbled over the rough, uneven roadbed, with the sharp 
stones and blade-like cinders cutting her bruised, tired feet 
most cruelly. But on she went unfalteringly, her one 
thought being to get away from her husband as far as 
possible. 

Twice the boy would have fallen had she not dropped 
her bundles and caught him; the second time he seemed 
so near exhausted that for a moment she had to support 
him with her free arm. Already the sleeping child upon 
her left arm was beginning to hang like a dead weight, and 
unconsciously she looked about for some temporary 
support. 

As her gaze swept up and down the road she became 
aware that the roadbed seemed rather more distinct there, 
and looking up saw that she had reached the lighted ca- 
boose. She went back to the rear end to the steps and 
without stopping to consider, realized that here was a 
possible resting place. 

Quickly she lifted the almost exhausted boy up to the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 107 

high step and placed him on the platform; then she went 
back and picked up her bundles and climbed up to the plat- 
form herself. As she stepped past the semi-conscious boy 
she tried the door of the caboose only to find it locked. For 
a moment she stood with her white, drawn face pressed 
against the dingy, dusty glass, and looked at the comfort 
that lay just within, but which was denied her and her 
suffering little ones. Then she went back to the boy and 
lifting him and his load almost bodily, she helped him to 
the opposite side of the platform and seated him upon the 
top step so he could rest his feet on the step below; then 
she put the two packages behind him to help support him, 
after which she seated herself by his side; taking the little 
one from her left arm and shoulder she laid it across her 
lap; after which she drew her large shawl well up around 
the boy and herself, fastening it as best she could. As she 
clasped the sleeping child with her right hand there issued 
from her white drawn lips, a deep breath of relief, which 
was more like a moan. 


Jerry Bond had had trouble with that old car before 
and why the company had persisted in sending that old 
box out on the road, delaying traffic, causing trouble, like- 
wise fast ruining Jerry’s fine disposition, was a thing he 
could not understand; after a time they got the damage 
repaired, and Jerry declared that he would throw up his 
job if they ever shoved that old thing off on him again. 
Then he signaled the engineer to go ahead slowly, after 
directing some of the crew to remain for a time with the 
damaged car. 


io8 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

As the caboose came along he swung himself aboard 
the front platform, signaled the engineer “All right,” and 
went inside. 

Going to his little cupboard, which was his desk as 
well, he made out his report for the accident and delay and 
putting it in his pocket, closed up the little aperture. After 
listening for a moment to the steady running of the train 
he became satisfied that all was going right; thereupon he 
stretched himself upon the long bench and was soon enjoy- 
ing a comfortable and well-earned snooze. 

How long he slept he never knew, but he started sud- 
denly up, wide awake with the feeling that somebody was 
trying to smother him, and looking about, saw that the 
windows and doors were all closed and that the air from 
the heated stove was fast becoming stifling, which it was 
that had wakened him. 

Staggering with the rolling and lurching of the train 
he made his way to the rear door, shot back the bolt and 
threw it wide open. 

A great wave of fresh air rushed in as something 
dropped almost at his feet. 

He looked down, then sprang back as if shot out of a 
gun, his eyes fixed with horror and affright upon the thing 
which lay across the threshold of the door. 

Now Jerry Bond, albeit he was a rough fellow, was 
never known to have taken a drink of liquor in his life; 
now he pinched himself and rubbed his eyes to assure him- 
self that he was awake; slowly he retreated half down the 
length of the car, never once taking his gaze from that 
coiling, twisting object. 

At first he had thought it was a snake, then as the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 109 

first shock left him and he could begin to see more clearly, 
he perceived it to be a coil of woman’s hair, and the in- 
rushing wind causing it to twist and turn gave it a weird 
and uncanny look. 

For some moments he stood and watched it as it turned 
and twisted. Almost it seemed to beckon to him to come 
nearer. 

Without removing his gaze from it, he groped his 
way to the little closet, found the button and opened the 
little door. Still watching, he fumbled about in the little 
boxes that served as pigeon-holes until he found a loaded 
revolver which he kept there; then he slowly made his 
way to the open door. 

What would he find just outside? 

He could not help but wonder. 

He half lifted the deadly weapon and came nearer. 
Then he stopped. 

He had had many strange encounters, but never any- 
thing like this. What was on the other side of that door- 
step? He waited. 

Should he call some of the crew? He hesitated. No, 
he would not. 

Quickly he stepped in the doorway and levelled the 
revolver. “ Hands up ! ” said he in a sharp, ringing voice. 

No answer, only the rattle of the train and the rush of 
the wind. 

At his feet lay the long coil of woman’s hair. 

The hand holding the deadly gun dropped slowly to 
his side as he peered sharply out into the night. 

Nothing. 

Then he looked down and saw that black coil on the 


no 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


threshold at his feet ; he had almost trod upon it. His eyes 
followed it out, and peering low down, he saw a dark, 
huddled, shapeless object on the top step of the platform, 
and as his eyes now accustomed themselves to the dim 
light, he could see the uncovered, bent head of a woman. 

He stood for a moment as if turned to stone. 

The sharp gusts of wind had tugged at her bowed 
head, and finally having torn her bonnet from its fasten- 
ings had hurled it away in the darkness; then gradually 
loosening the heavy coil of her hair had sucked it down 
against the door when it had blown the end in across the 
step as he opened the door. 

Jerry’s mind was in a maze. This surely was a new 
experience for him. A woman sitting on the back plat- 
form. Where had she come from? How long had she 
been there? Well, she could not remain there much 
longer, for he could now see, from the lurching of the 
train, that she swayed dangerously. 

What should he do? Should he call some of the 
boys? He dared not. Suppose she were to lose her 
balance while he was gone. He dared not risk it. 

How should he approach her? Suppose he should 
startle her and so precipitate her off the step. At the 
rate they were now going it meant certain death. 

Cautiously he moved forward, clinging to the rail, 
and bent down over her crouching form. Slowly he put 
his hand upon her shoulder as he spoke. 

She neither moved nor answered. 

Lower he bent down, and peered into that ghastly 
white, staring face. 

“ Come, ma’am,” said he, “ you can’t stay here ; come. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


hi 


get up and come inside. Here, let me help you.” He 
stopped short and stared. 

The woman had lifted her head and was looking at 
him with an awful look of dumb agony. 

Jerry Bond almost lost his nerve at that look, then he 
pulled himself together with a mighty effort. “ Come ! 
come ! ma’am,” said he, “ you can’t set here any longer ; 
here, come, let me help you inside. 

No time for questions and answers now. Now he 
must act, and act quickly. He reached down with his 
arms to lift the woman, curling his leg around the railing 
to keep himself from pitching headforemost from the plat- 
form from the lurching of the train ; he gave a mighty start, 
and swore under his breath, as his hand came in contact 
with a little warm face under the woman’s shawl. 

Reaching down in an agony of terror he caught the 
dark huddled mass in his powerful arms and dragged it 
forcibly back from its perilous position to the open door. 
With horror and amazement he gazed at the sight which 
met his eyes. 

The large shawl had been thrown back by the hur^ 
ried grasp and there on the platform at his feet they lay, 
the small unconscious boy and the almost unconscious 
woman, and across them the two sleeping children. 

Quickly he picked up the sleeping form of the little 
girl who threatened, with every movement of the train, to 
roll from the mother’s nerveless arm off the platform, and 
carrying her inside laid her, not too gently, down on the 
cushion he had so lately occupied. 

Then he rushed back to pick up the little babe, but 


1 12 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


finding it fastened so to the inanimate form of the boy, 
he gathered both up in his arms, and then dragged the 
form of the woman across the threshold; laying her down 
as gently as he could while he tried to get the little one 
out of the sling; succeeding finally, although by this time 
she had become thoroughly wakened and was screaming 
with fright. 

Not daring to lay the unconscious boy down, he 
rushed over to the water pail and hurriedly dashed some 
cold water in the little pinched, white face on his arm. 

Hurrying over to the long couch he laid the senseless 
little form down and loosened the band at the throat; 
then he brought some water to the dazed woman, who was 
beginning to rouse up from the cries of the child, and 
helped her to a seat near by; after bathing her face and 
head and rubbing her numbed hands he was enabled to 
leave her while he made his way back to the side of the 
unconscious boy. The little Beatrice screamed aloud as 
he came near her, and the cries of the child rousing the 
mother from her stupor she grasped the back of the seat 
in front of her and attempted to get to her feet, only to 
sink back almost fainting with pain and nausea; with a 
determined effort she tried again, and finally groped her 
way to the crying child, watching the man as he worked to 
revive the insensible boy. 

Leaving the little one to sob out her grief, now she 
managed to reach the side of the man and with his help 
removed the coat and shoes and began to chafe the little 
cold feet and legs, while the man rubbed the little hands 
and arms. 

The violence of the effort caused the circulation in her 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 113 

own body to increase, and soon she began to feel her 
strength return. 

The breath still refused to come back in the little frail 
body, and in an agony of terror, Jerry Bond suddenly pushed 
the mother back, and bending down grasped the little chest 
and shoulders in his great hands and forced every particle 
of air out of the little lungs; then as he bent the little 
shoulders back he filled his own mighty chest with air, and 
placing his lips to the cold, white lips of the child, he 
forced the air into that poor little chest; then quickly 
gathering him up in his arms he rushed to the open door 
and repeated it; after a little the little chest heaved and 
gasped. The awful struggle was on. The little life that 
had threatened to go out began to struggle back as Jerry 
Bond laid the little body down, the perspiration pouring 
down, as the tears streamed from his honest eyes. 

Altogether, honest Jerry concluded that it had been 
about the most exciting and busy half hour he had ever 
experienced, and now that the more exciting part of the 
episode had passed he began to wonder who this strange 
party was and where they had come from. 

That they had not been upon the car when he had 
fastened the door he was certain, neither were they, from 
all appearances, tramps, for their clothing, aside from the 
soil of the car floor and the dusty road, was neat and 
comfortable; and that reminded him that he had chanced 
to see some bundles when he drew the woman and children 
back from the platform, so he hurried to the door, which 
still stood open, to find them, but upon reaching the plat- 
form only one was in sight; he picked it up and assuring 
himself that that was all there was there he returned to 


1 14 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the car ; although he felt sure that he had seen at least one 
other one. 

Margaret Raymond was bathing the boy’s face with 
cold water as he came up to her with the bundle, and just 
at that moment the boy raised his left arm to his head ; the 
sleeve falling back as he did so, disclosed to the eyes of 
the wondering man a big black bruise on the white flesh. 

Jerry bent down, and taking the little hand in his 
looked closely at it, and he wondered how that bruise might 
have come there. Running his finger lightly over the dis- 
colored surface he found it swollen and hard, then passed 
his hand along the bone to ascertain whether there might 
be a fracture also, but was greatly relieved to find that 
there was none. 

He looked at the woman with a questioning look. 
Margaret Raymond, seeing the action and the look the man 
cast upon her, for the first time now looked full at him and 
said, “ Sir, we are, as you see, in deep trouble ; to save this 
boy further injury, even his life itself, I have — ” she 
paused as if seeking a way to reply. Then she continued, 
“ I have left all behind me and brought these children 
away.” 

Then seeing the questioning look still upon the man’s 
face, her hands unconsciously fell upon the two little girls 
as she continued, “ They are mine. I am their mother.” 
Then she went on a little more rapidly, “ Oh, sir, you 
perhaps have little ones of your own. Perhaps a little 
daughter. Perhaps a boy like this. Oh, sir, look at these 
helpless little ones and help us. I have some money,” she 
put her hand within the waist of her dress and drew out 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 1 15 

the little package of money. “ I will pay you what I can if 
you will not put us off.” 

Jerry swore softly under his breath. 

“ Oh, please, sir,” went on the woman, “ don’t put us 
off.” Mistaking his meaning. 

“There, there, ma’am!” said Jerry testily, “put up 
your money, no one’s goin’ to put you off this train. Not 
while I’m around.” Then, as she hesitated, “ Put up your 
money, this ain’t no passenger train, ’n I guess this don't 
concern the company any. Where you goin’ to? I take 
it your mighty anxious to get away from someone.” 

The woman nodded. 

“ Well, you see, we’re due in Bart-Haven at ten-thirty, 
but that accident’s put us back about an hour; but ’f you’r 
wantin’ to keep away from someone, why Bart-Haven 
ain’t no place ’tall.” 

Margaret Raymond was thinking rapidly. 

“ Bart-Haven ? ” said she. “ Is that not where the fast 
express for New York stops?” 

“ Yes,” said Jerry. “ She’s due there about twelve 
o’clock. But you couldn’t — ” 

“ Oh, I must ! ” she interrupted him. “ If we can 
reach Bart-Haven in time to catch that train no one need 
know; oh, sir, help me, for the sake of your own wife and 
little ones.” 

“ There, there, ma’am, you just make yourself com- 
fortable, and them little ones; guess this one,” indicating 
the boy, “ ’s cornin’ along all right ; I’ll do for you all I can. 
Ne’ mind, now, ne’ mind,” as she would have made to 
express her gratitude. “ Got some kiddies of my own, 


Ii6 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

ma’am, ’t’s all right,” said he, patting her on the shoulder, 
“ ’t’s all right.” 

At half-past eleven they rolled into Bart-Haven, and 
after discharging his duties Jerry took his little company 
of weary wanderers up to the station, and leaving them 
seated in a dark and secluded corner he procured the neces- 
sary tickets, with money taken from the little packet of 
Margaret Raymond’s savings, and shortly after, when the 
great express had come in, and the conductor and trainman 
had stepped inside for orders, helped the weary little ones 
up the steps and into the luxuriously padded coach; got 
them safely and comfortably settled and made his way out 
by a rear door without having been seen by any of the crew. 

In a few minutes the signal “ All aboard ” was given. 
The trainman swung aboard. The great express rolled 
out in the night and the dark, carrying with it Alfred 
Raymond into the sea of the great untried future. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 117 


CHAPTER VI 

On through the night and the dark sped the Great 
Eastern express, bearing in its mighty embrace Margaret 
Raymond and her little homeless children. 

After having been left by Jerry Bond safely aboard 
the luxurious train she busied herself in trying to make her 
children and herself as comfortable as possible, and when 
the conductor came through she was resting quietly against 
the back of the seat, half supporting Alfred in her arm ; the 
two little ones lying on the forward seat fast asleep. 

On, on through the night, hour after hour, they sped 
on their weary way. 

The conductor, a kind-hearted elderly man, came back, 
after his trip through the train was completed, and brought 
some blankets, which he had secured from one of the 
sleepers ahead, and helped to make the weary little party 
as comfortable as he could for the long dreary ride. 

Morning had broken long before they rolled into the 
great station of the metropolis, and gathering her little 
ones about her Margaret left the train and slowly made her 
way to the great waiting room, almost stunned by the 
tremendous uproar and confusion all about her. She was 
a simple country-bred woman and had never been in a 
great city before, and the noise and confusion seemed to 
bewilder and almost overpower her. 

Carying the little Beatrice upon her arm, with Alfred 
leading little Margaret by the hand, she sought a far corner 


ii8 * My Land. My Country. My Home. 

of the great room and sitting down tried to collect her 
scattered thoughts and form some plan. 

During the early part of her hurried flight her one only 
thought had been to get as far, and as quickly as possible, 
away from her husband. What she should do after had 
not occurred to her. Now that she was brought thus face 
to face with all the difficulties of her position in this great 
confusion her heart sickened. It was all so new, so strange 
to her. 

Where should she go for protection ? To whom 
should she appeal? 

She felt as if she were being swallowed up in some 
giant whirlpool. Her mind was, from the long strain im- 
posed upon it, fast becoming a blank. 

Little Beatrice, overtired and hungry from the long 
and rough journey, began to sob softly; Alfred and little 
Margaret tried to soothe her, but the child only cried the 
louder. 

The hurrying, bustling crowd gave little heed to the 
party, except to wonder that the mother did not soothe and 
quiet the little one. 

From out of her bewilderment Margaret Raymond 
realized that someone was bending over her and speaking 
to her. 

She looked up and met a kindly pair of eyes looking 
into hers as she felt the stranger's hand upon her uncovered 
head. 

The little one had ceased crying, and all three children 
were standing by with frightened faces. Mother had never 
been like this before, and the woman who was speaking to 
mother, she looked so strange; she was dressed all in 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 119 

black and she had on a little black bonnet with such white 
strings. 

After a little they all went with the strange woman out 
from the waiting room and then they got into such a queer 
wagon, it was something like Farmer Jim’s big surrey only 
it was shut up all around, and a man sat way up on the top 
and drove. And the strange woman talked to mother, and 
mother talked now, and by and by they stopped before a 
big high house ; and mother gave the man some money and 
then he went away. And then they all went in the house, 
and they waited while the strange woman went and found 
another woman, and they talked with mother and mother 
said yes. So they all went way, way up so many stairs, 
until there were no more stairs and the other woman opened 
a door into such a nice big room ; and there was a smaller 
room off, and the sun shone in so bright, and you could 
look out of the windows and see, oh, my, of all the things 
you could see; and Alfred forgot that he was tired, and the 
babies forgot they were tired and hungry, for they thought 
they must be somewhere way up near the clouds ; and then 
the woman who wore the little black bonnet with such 
white strings went out, and the other woman helped mother 
to wash and dress the little girls, and then the woman 
brushed mother’s hair. Mother always looked so nice 
when her hair hung down all around her so. And the 
woman said, “ What beautiful hair ! ” and mother looked 
up and smiled at her. Then he wanted to touch mother’s 
hair again, mother often let him hold it in both hands, but 
there was more than he could hold; so he took it up now, 
and then he saw a very strange thing, there were so many 
white ones in it; he did not remember seeing any white 


120 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


ones there before; but before he could say anything about 
it the other woman came back with something for them to 
eat, and said, “ My ! how nice you all look ! ” and mother 
smiled again and then they all began to feel much better. 

And thus Alfred Raymond found a shelter after his 
brief, stormy experience. 

The good Deaconess, who had found them so pleasant 
a home in the house where she also lived, soon ascertained 
that Margaret Raymond was a skilled needle woman, and 
soon she had all the work she could possibly do; which, 
together with the money she had saved, soon enabled her, 
by careful management, to keep her little family very com- 
fortable. 

Alfred was established in a good school not far away, 
and being a studious boy soon became rather a favorite 
with his teachers. 

After becoming accustomed to the change after the 
splendid freedom of the country he gradually learned to 
adjust himself to his present surroundings. 

On his way to and from school he noticed the boys 
who sold papers, and going to the teacher he asked her why 
they did it, and when she had explained to him how many 
of the boys of the school did the same thing, he determined 
to ask mother to allow him to do so. He could now re- 
member a corner where many people went by, but he did 
not remember of ever having seen any boy there, and he 
was sure that that would be such a good place; why he 
could sell, maybe, as many as fifty papers there, and that 
meant, yes, that meant twenty-five cents; then he took his 
pencil and paper and he figured how much that would be 
for six days, and then for a month and then for a year, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


121 


and, and he was almost frightened. Why, he had never 
thought he could earn so much money. Oh! if school 
would only close so he could ask mother. Then he got so 
absorbed with the thought that the teacher had to ask him 
twice for the answer to some question, and then she came 
down to his desk and asked to see what had taken his atten- 
tion from his lesson. So he showed her and wanted to 
explain, but she told him to wait until the session closed 
and then she would talk to him. 

Then some of the scholars thought he must stay after 
school for punishment and tried to tease him, but he'did 
not care, he began to feel so happy again. And then he 
wondered why the lovely bird in his throat did not flutter 
and beat as it used to when he felt so happy. 

He never felt it now ; often his throat felt, oh, so tired 
and sick. He wondered if the beautiful singing bird was 
dead. Then he began to feel that awful chill come over 
him, but just then his eye caught the figures on the paper 
and he forgot his sadness in this new joy. 

By and by the great gong sounded, and the scholars 
trooped out, leaving him alone with Miss Burdict; then 
she called him to her and asked him to show her the paper ; 
then she explained to him what he must do, and where he 
must go, in fact, she said she would go with him, if he 
wished her, to get his papers, that is, if his mother were 
willing. 

In his eagerness to get away he nearly forgot to thank 
the teacher for her kindness, and then he remembered that 
his mother would not like him to do such a thing, so he 
came back, with his cap and book in his hand and his 
beautiful face flushed, as he said, “ Please excuse me, Miss 


122 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


Burdict, but I did not say thank you for being so good, and 
my mother wouldn’t like it if she knew.” And he put 
out his hand, which she took and held for a moment, and 
pressed in both of hers, as she said, “ Good night, and God 
bless you, boy ! ” and she wondered what manner of woman 
this mother might be. 

Out of the building and home he rushed as fast as his 
flying feet would carry him and could hardly wait to get 
up the stairs before he began calling for his mother. 

Margaret Raymond came hurrying to the top of the 
stair, startled lest some calamity might have occurred. 

The two little ones joined in the uproar and for a 
time confusion reigned supreme, for little Beatrice would 
be taken up, and must love Bobo, and little Margaret must 
also be noticed, until mother said, “ Here, let mother have 
Beatrice,” and then she held little Margaret with the other 
hand as she said, “ Now, boy, tell me what is all this about 
papers, and corners, and people, and money.” 

And then he told her. At first Margaret looked very 
serious and shook her head, but he pleaded and showed 
his papers and his figures, and told her all the teacher had 
told him, and mother thought it over, then talked it over 
with the landlady. 

Officer Danny O’Gorman had lately been promoted 
from the awkward squad from which, after having proven 
his efficiency, he had been given crossing duty at the very 
corner that Alfred had thought of as being a good working 
point. 

Now, the reason for this place not being already pre- 
empted was, that when Danny first went on the force the 
newsies had guyed him most mercilessly, and all he could 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 123 

do was to grin and bear it, but he vowed vengeance on any 
newsie that should come his way ; so after having been 
appointed to this special place he had cleared every one 
off from his preserves. And where the newsies had so 
often hugged themselves with delight at being able to in- 
flict so much torment, now they were, almost in reality, 
repenting in “ sackcloth and ashes/’ for the corner under 
question was one of the finest working places they knew 
of and many indeed had been the friendly overtures ex- 
tended to Officer Danny. But he was laughing best, for 
he was laughing last. 

It was a busy Saturday morning. Officer Danny was 
immaculate from the top of his helmet to the sole of his 
polished boot; his buttons were ablaze with light and his 
clothes were spotlessly blue; under his helmet his hand- 
some blue eyes and Irish face smiled upon the whole 
world; and altogether he felt very much satisfied with 
himself and the dignity of his position. ’Twas, as I have 
said, a busy morning. There were so many fine ladies out, 
and Officer Danny prided himself upon being such a great 
favorite with them, and this morning there seemed to be 
more than usual, and a thing that he had not noticed before 
was that so many of them carried a copy of the morning 
paper. Shure, now, he never remembered that the ladies 
ever bothered with the morning papers before. Shure, 
now, ’twas strange. 

Just then he happened to look over to his particular 
corner. Immediately he straightened as if he had been 
struck a blow. Were his eyes deceiving him? They 
must be! He rubbed them to make sure. The sacred 
precincts of his territory had been invaded. Upon his 


124 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

own particular corner was stationed one of the despised 
enemy, a newsie. 

The other newsies had discovered him at almost the 
same time, and were losing no time in delivering their 
taunts and at the same moment hugging themselves in 
glee, anticipating the avalanche of woe and destruction 
when Officer Danny should pour out his vials of wrath upon 
the head of the unsuspecting newsie. 

Officer Danny nearly disgraced himself ; he actually 
swore ; yes, sir, he really said “ damn,” and good Mrs. 
Prescott heard him and was terribly shocked, for she had 
always considered Officer Danny a very exemplary young 
man; for had he not always treated her with the greatest 
respect and shown her so much courtesy as he escorted 
her across the street? Of course, she knew that he 
recognized her superiority to the common crowd, but this 
morning he had actually sworn, and had grabbed her very 
unceremoniously by the arm and had hustled her across 
the street in a very undignified manner, and had said, 
“ Hurry up, ma’am ! Hurry up ! Don’t be dawdlin’ along 
like an old woman.” And he had landed her upon the 
other side very much perturbed, her bonnet all awry and 
very angry, protesting that he had treated her with as 
little courtesy as he would have shown to a newsboy. 

And that was it, really it, all of this disturbance of 
Officer Danny’s equanimity was caused by one little news- 
boy. 

There came a little lull in the traffic ; here was a chance, 
and Officer Danny moved quickly over to the violated 
corner, breathing out “ threatenings and slaughter ” as he 
went. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


125 


A woman was coming down the street. The slender 
little figure of the boy stepped forward toward her hold- 
ing in his outstretched hand a paper; she shook her head 
and made as if to pass on, but happening to look into the 
upturned face of the boy she stopped, and taking out her 
purse accepted the proffered paper, dropping a piece of 
money in the outstretched hand. Quickly the boy handed 
back the correct change. She looked again and turned to 
pass on just as she met Officer Danny at the curb, and 
hearing the exclamation on his lips she turned to watch. 

The boy was standing with his back toward the now 
thoroughly exasperated officer. 

“ Here, you impudent little vagabond! You make 
tracks out of this just as fast as your little legs will carry 
you or I’ll ” 

The rest was lost in a confused jumble. For, as he 
dropped his hand heavily upon those slender shoulders, 
the boy turned and looked up, and the blue eyes of Officer 
O’Gorman met the grand golden-gray eyes of Alfred Ray- 
mond, and the soul of the man melted as ice melts before 
the sun. 

For a moment he stood there as if paralyzed, almost 
unable to remove his gaze from those wonderful orbs 
and that beautiful boyish face. 

Just then a party of people came forward, and to 
cover his confusion he caught three or four papers from 
the boy, saying, as he held them out, “ Here, lady, buy a 
paper. Gents, have a paper. Look sharp there, boy, don’t 
you see the people are all wantin’ papers? Thank you, 
sir, thank you, ma’am. New at the job,” nodding toward 
the astonished boy. “ Just helpin’ ’im out a bit. There ! 


126 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

that’s the way to do it,” said he, as he hurried back to his 
position on the crossing, leaving the boy staring after him 
for a moment as if bewildered. 

Then a customer came up and asked for a paper and 
so, regaining his composure, he was soon busy disposing 
of his wares. 

“ Nice little fellow over on the corner,” said Officer 
Danny to a party he was piloting across. “ New at the 
job ; help ’im out a bit. Nodding toward Alfred Raymond.” 

And so the morning passed. Once or twice Officer 
Danny hurried over to encourage the boy and show him 
some tricks of the trade, while the other newsies looked on 
in surprise and disgust, but not daring to offer any resent- 
ment. 

At last the papers were all gone. Alfred stood for a 
moment, then stepped to the edge of the curb toward the 
officer. 

Officer Danny came up toward the boy and then 
stopped. He looked into that beautiful smiling face and 
into those grand gray eyes, and then he lifted his hand and 
saluted. Why he did it he could not have told. The boy’s 
little slender hand was lifted, the salute was recognized and 
returned, and in a moment he was gone. 

Several times during the hours of that morning Officer 
Danny found himself thinking of the boy, and recalling the 
look of those wonderful eyes, and after a little he caught 
himself saying, “ Like twin stars, like twin stars. ” 

On the following Monday morning Alfred was early 
at his post, and disposing of his papers was off to school ; 
after a while Officer Danny advised him to come out for 
the evening trade, and soon a strong friendship was estab- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 1 27 

lished between “ Little Star,” as the officer called him, and 
the officer. 

Through the friendship thus established a large trade 
was built up, which continued for some time, and the 
amount of money earned by the boy was considerable, but 
his mother could not be prevailed upon to use any of it 
for her own use; on the contrary, she taught him to bank 
it and then let him pay his own expenses out of it, two 
lessons that were of incalculable benefit to him. 

About a year after their arrival in the great city the 
little Beatrice was taken suddenly violently ill and after a 
short sickness died, and, oh, the sorrow of that little home, 
and the desolation the day mother took the little silent 
form away, while he and the little Margaret had stayed 
with the good Deaconess. After many days the smiles 
came back to his face and the cheerful laugh began to 
ring out again as of yore. 

But the years moved on. He was growing older, and 
one day he failed to come to the corner with his great stock 
of papers as usual. Officer Danny had a tough time that 
day. 

What had become of his boy Star? Was he sick? 
He could not understand. He hurried around and secured 
another boy to attend to the papers. 

The next day he did not come. The new boy did the 
best he could, but the customers were uneasy; they had 
gotten used to looking for that bright, handsome face and 
happy smile that had always greeted them, and hearing 
Officer Danny call him by the name of Star they had 
naturally and easily fallen into the way of calling him the 
same until he became known by the name of Young Star. 


128 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

But the boy was gone; he came back no more; and 
the new boy took his place. But the influence of that 
young life clung to the spot; many of the old customers 
stopped to talk about him; they recalled so many things 
now that he was gone, and gradually the new boy began 
to acquire some of the traits of Young Star, as they called 
him. 

Officer Danny berated himself soundly for not having 
found out the real name of his young protege, and so when 
the day came that he was transferred from crossing duty to 
mounted service in the park he gave up the old place with a 
considerable degree of relief. 

The reason for the sudden disappearance of Alfred 
was that, having grown to the years of a young man, and 
by hard work and study having finished his high school 
course, he was anxious to obtain some permanent employ- 
ment so as to relieve his mother as much as he could, and 
one day he was called to the great house of VanDyke & 
Co. to assist with the office work, where by careful atten- 
tion to detail and business he soon attained to an enviable 
position and became a valued and trusted employee. 

Just at that time the good landlady, with whom they 
had lived so long, gave up her house, and so he with his 
mother and sister, who was now growing into a beautiful 
young woman, removed to another part of the city, where 
their joint incomes allowed them to live in a much more 
comfortable and private way. 

To many the life and movements of Margaret Raymond 
may seem almost inexcusable, yet if any care to look be- 
neath the surface I am sure none will judge her wrongly 
or harshly. 


My Land. My Country . My Home. 129 

At times when the past had come up before her she 
had seriously asked herself the question, had she taken the 
wrong or the right course ? Of her husband she had never 
inquired after having learned from Mr. Arnold, at the time 
she buried her baby Beatrice beside her father and mother, 
that he was then living with Jim and Mary Beaton; and 
some things that were repeated at that time led her to 
understand that John was living a very different life, for 
which she was very thankful ; but being in no way a hypo- 
critical woman she did not profess anything she did not 
feel. 

When she considered her own changed life, and the 
change wrought in the life of the boy Alfred and his sister, 
she could not help but feel convinced that she had pursued 
the right course, although it seemed most drastic. But 
extreme cases often need extreme measures. 

Her life and the lives of her children with her husband 
were positively destined to be wrecked, and no amount of 
reasoning could convince her that any such price should be 
paid, any such sacrifice made; and certainly every indica- 
tion proved her judgment to have been correct. 

With John in the home of Jim Beaton, with only the 
best influence about him, would have a natural tendency to 
check the evil that had so long dominated him. Then the 
influence that his children, and particularly Alfred, had in 
this childless home, brought him into an entirely new rela- 
tionship with his own family, which relationship never hav- 
ing been acknowledged, appealed all the more strongly now 
that they were so thoroughly separated from him. 

Upon learning from Mr. Arnold of the death of his 
little daughter Beatrice, he came thus into actual contact 


130 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

with the first real grief of his life; and owing to the com- 
plete separation that existed between himself and his family, 
a separation which he was forced to acknowledge was en- 
tirely due to his own faults, brought the loss home to him 
all the more keenly. 

As time passed on and every effort on his part to ob- 
tain any trace of the missing ones failed at every point, the 
utter rout of his selfish nature was completed. 

Had they been dead and quietly resting in their graves 
he felt that he might have become, to a degree, reconciled, 
but the great uncertainty that overshadowed the whole 
miserable transaction slowly but surely destroyed every 
brutal, selfish trait in him. 

The grand character of Margaret Raymond slowly, 
but surely, unfolded itself to his inner conscience until he 
began to wonder how she had ever borne with him the one- 
tenth part of all of his brutalities; as for the boy, upon 
whose innocent life he had vented the greater part of his 
devilish spleen, the memory of that beautiful, childish face, 
and happy singing life, was a constant reproach and shame ; 
while the remembrance of that last scene with the boy and 
his mother haunted him with all of its hideous nakedness, 
and often threatened to overwhelm him ; but the calm, 
steadfast friendship of Jim and Mary Beaton gradually 
succeeded in sustaining him through the fierce trial until 
his feet stood firmly upon the solid ground of a renewed 
and chastened manhood. 

After some years he returned to his native place, and 
assuming control of the estate of his father, which had 
been all but wrecked by himself, he succeeded, by hard 
work and careful management, in restoring it to its former 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 131 

prosperity; so that in time he became, while not a loved, 
yet a highly esteemed member of that community. 

Between himself and Mr. Arnold, the man who held 
control of Margaret’s property, there existed only the most 
formal civilities ; and the only pleasure that seemed to enter 
into his lonely existence, was the task he assumed of caring 
for the little plot in the burying ground where was buried 
the little form of his baby daughter Beatrice. 

Life at the old Beaton farm moved on in the same 
calm, uneventful track, after the violent upheaval and 
shock caused by the complete disappearance of Margaret 
and her children; and while Jim and Mary Beaton grad- 
ually resumed their accustomed routine outwardly, inwardly 
a great change had been wrought. 

The sunshine of a great joy which had promised to 
irradiate their whole lives, had changed with almost light- 
ning-like rapidity and left in its stead the deep impenetrable 
shadow of a great sorrow. 

Toward the old dog Shep, Mary Beaton changed en- 
tirely; while before she had always valued the dog for his 
excellent qualities, now, for the sake of the boy, the old dog 
became her first thought; and when his days were ended 
she insisted that he be buried under the old maple tree in 
the yard where he had played so often with the boy ; “ for,” 
as she said, “ when old Shep was near, she somehow felt 
that maybe Alfred was not so far away after all.” 

Down by the corner of the barn Jim Beaton often 
stands in the dusk of the evening and looks along to where 
a little path once ran; and he sees the flash of a pair of 
little white legs and feet, all wet and glistening with the 
cold morning dew; the glow of a beautiful boyish face; the 


132 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

flash of a pair of grand gray eyes. He feels again the 
ecstatic quiver of a little boyish form as it lay across his 
massive chest, held by his mighty arms, and he turns away 
with a sigh; for it has all passed like a dream, the boy 
come no more out of the silence, for — 

There are hearts that ache, 

And there are hearts that break, 

That the old world knows not of ; 

But joy will return 
To its own again, 

In the heaven of God’s own love. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


133 


CHAPTER VII 

Mrs. Peter VanDyke left her carriage at the street 
corner, and bidding her driver to wait, took her way up 
the narrow street on foot; for, though the wife of one of 
New York’s richest men, and a great social leader, she 
always avoided any unseeming notoriety; and while her 
charities and kindnesses toward the poor were many, her 
right hand never knew wherewith the left had been busied ; 
and so, knowing the propensities of servants to gossip, she 
always pursued this course when upon any mission of 
mercy bent. 

Going quietly along the half deserted street, she saw 
approaching from the opposite direction, two little chil- 
dren, a boy and girl, seemingly about eight or nine years of 
age, rather poorly but cleanly clad. 

As they were crossing the street ahead a man passed 
her, walking rather quickly, but being intent on watching 
the children, she did not at first notice him. As the boy 
attempted to step up the rather high curb from the cross- 
ing, his little smooth worn shoe slipped just as his entire 
weight was thrown forward, bringing the little limb down 
upon the hard, rough edge of the curb with most cruel 
force. 

The face of the child went white as the little form 
wilted down and fairly shrunk together with the awful 
agony of the fall. 

Just as a low moan issued from the white lips of the 
child a strong arm went around the slender quivering little 


134 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

form, and crushed it against a strong manly chest ; a strong 
white hand reached down and gently, but firmly, pressed 
the little bruised leg, thereby numbing the pain for an in- 
stant; a face was pressed to the quivering face of the child, 
and a soft, gentle voice murmured in the little ear, “ Oh, 
I know it hurts just awful, just awful! but I wouldn’t 
cry.” And the cheek of the child was wet with the tears 
of the man. 

Mrs. Peter VanDyke stepped into a doorway and 
watched the scene with considerable interest; for, noticing 
the man for the first time as he bent over the child, she 
recognized him as the chief clerk in her husband’s office. 

After a little he lifted the little fellow up and carefully 
set him upon his feet, saying something in a low tone, too 
low for her to catch, but the child smiled and in a moment 
passed on with the little girl who had remained standing 
quietly by. 

As the children moved away Alfred Raymond, for it 
was he, turned to watch them as they went, and standing 
thus with the light full upon him, she was greatly shocked 
at the appearance he presented. 

She saw at a glance that his clothing hung upon him in 
such a manner as to almost accentuate the look of emacia- 
tion of his form ; his hands white and slender were almost 
of a transparent whiteness; his finely shaped, handsome 
face was almost bloodless, while those grand, golden-gray 
eyes seemed to burn with an almost unearthly light, giving 
to the face a weird, uncanny look. 

For a moment he stood, then turned and went on down 
the street. 

Mrs. VanDyke lingered for some moments, ponder- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 135 

ing in her mind the almost ghastly appearance of the man ; 
slowly it dawned upon her that he was working himself 
near unto death. She knew her husband for a strict busi- 
ness man, but not for a hard driver, and so she was at 
somewhat of a loss to understand. Quickly dispatching 
the errand upon which she had come, she hurried back to 
her waiting carriage, and entering, directed the driver to 
drive quickly to her husband’s office. 

When Alfred re-entered the office, after having re- 
turned from transacting the business that had taken him 
out the morning of his encounter with the children, the 
page announced to him that Mr. VanDyke desired to see 
him in his private office; and as he was often sent for, he 
moved toward the inner office without word or comment. 
A brusque “ Come in,” came in response to his tap at the 
door marked “ Private.” 

As he entered the door and closed it behind him, Mr. 
VanDyke looked sharply at him for the first time. The 
fact being that so long as his work was well done Mr. Peter 
VanDyke troubled himself very little about his employees. 

Now Mrs. Peter VanDyke had been giving him a 
rather bad half hour, and so, thoroughly aroused and 
curious, it was with a considerable feeling of discomfort 
that he realized that all that she had been saying was only 
too apparently true, consequently he felt rather testy over 
the matter. 

“ Raymond,” said he abruptly, “ how long have you 
been with me ? ” 

“ Seven years,” was the reply.' Alfred looked inquir- 
ingly at his employer, but Mr. VanDyke avoided looking 
up. 


136 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

“ Feeling well ? ” was the next rather startling ques- 
tion. 

“ Why, yes.” 

“ See here, Raymond ! You’ve been working too hard, 
and I’ve been pretty busy myself and hadn’t noticed, and 
the fact is, you’re pretty nearly used up; and you’re al- 
together too valuable a man to lose, so I’ve decided to give 
you a six months’ leave of absence.” 

Alfred, swept off his feet for the first time, felt too 
weak to protest. 

Mr. VanDyke was going on. 

“ Mrs. VanDyke has a brother in Arizona, on a ranch ; 
and we have written him that we are sending you on ; the 
letter will reach him by Saturday, and he will meet you at 
Balls Forks on Monday; to-day is Tuesday; can you be 
ready to start by Friday? Here is a list of the stops and 
changes you will need to make. Have you all the money 
you need to use? Come in and see me before you leave.” 

Short, sharp and decisive, Mr. VanDyke carried his 
point, but not once did he look into the grand gray eyes 
bent so wonderingly upon him. 


Some years had elapsed since Alfred Raymond, with 
his mother and sister, had removed to that part of the great 
city where they had made a new home; and after having 
become settled, and finding himself financially enabled to 
carry on some branches of study which he was particularly 
anxious to pursue, he had not spared himself at all. 

The memory of the wonderful voice which had been 
his as a boy, and a passionate love for music, had remained 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 137 

with him always, while his great love for the mother who 
he almost idolized, and the sister whom he adored, together 
with his bright, beautiful disposition, had sustained him 
through many a dark hour. 

In secret he mourned deeply the loss of his voice, but 
no word of complaint was ever heard to come from his 
lips. The wonderful character of Margaret Raymond 
seemed to have impregnated his whole being, though often 
there came a great longing to try to sing again; but upon 
having tried once or twice, and feeling the iron band that 
seemed to have been forged about that exquisite throat, he 
had resigned himself to the inevitable, feeling that he would 
never sing again. 

But one night, upon being beguiled into attending the 
opera to hear the world-famed singer, Corina DelMere, 
woke all the old longing, with a greater intensity than ever 
before. 

While all the world bowed in acknowledgment to this 
wonderful artiste whose notes and method seemed to have 
reached almost absolute perfection, yet all agreed that she 
was more a perfect instrument, an instrument without a 
soul. 

As he pondered upon the subject, the thought of study- 
ing such a method would keep intruding itself upon his 
mind. 

At first he scoffed at the idea, but the more he com- 
batted it the more insistent it became, until one night he 
spoke of it to his mother. 

Margaret Raymond, knowing him so well and knowing 
the painful loss his voice had been to him, had always been 
careful to avoid any topic that might lead up to the sub- 


138 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

ject, now replied with some trepidation, when he came and 
seated himself at her feet as he often did and asked her 
advice upon the subject. 

“ What do you think you would like to do ? ” she had 
replied in answer to his question. 

“ Well,” answered he, “ I don't suppose that I will 
ever sing again.” And he turned his handsome face away 
that she might not see the pained look that rested there, 
and which he could not suppress ; “ but,” said he resuming, 
“ I have thought that I should like to study the technique 
of the work, and know how it should be done, although I 
may never be able to do it.” 

For a moment she remained silent, letting her hand 
rest upon the bent, golden-brown head that leaned against 
her knee. “ Well,” said she at length, “ I don't suppose 
there would be any harm in trying; but, Boy,” said she, 
using the old, familiar, endearing term, “ Mother does not 
wish to say anything to pain or discourage you, so forgive 
me if I recall unpleasant memories.” He caught the hand 
that rested upon his head and pressed it against his lips as 
he said, “ Let me hear it now, mother.” 

“ You know the injury done you that night was most 
wanton and cruel ; ” she felt his hand clench upon hers 
sharply as she continued; knowing that, as now he had 
come to the years of manhood and understanding, the 
memory of that black night stood out in all its hideousness, 
“ and,” continued she, “ the injury may be irreparable, and 
so I would advise you not to be disappointed if you should 
fail ; but,” said she hurriedly, “ have you thought where you 
would go to study? ” 

“ Well,” said he slowly, “ I know it is very foolish, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 139 

and I know that you will agree with me that it is, but I 
have thought of Mdlle. DelMere ; she has a wonderful 
method ; of course I know it is absurd for me to think that 
she would entertain such an idea for a moment.” 

“ Yes,” said his mother, “ but since you feel that you 
wish to make such an effort, why, I think you are justified 
in at least doing the best you can, and surely the best is 
none too good when an honest endeavor is to be made.” 

A little later Corina DelMere, having a respite from 
her duties at the opera, was resting quietly in her luxurious 
apartments, when the maid brought in a card upon a dainty 
silver tray. 

She took it up without comment and idly read the name. 

Alfred Raymond. 

For a moment she gazed at the little white square of 
pasteboard, almost with unseeing eyes ; then, without think- 
ing, laid it down. 

The maid waited for a few moments and then spoke, 
“ Mademoiselle does not care to see the gentleman ? ” 

A vague insinuation aroused a little feeling of resent- 
ment in the mind of the singer, and without pausing to 
consider, she replied quickly, “ Yes, Adelle, you may show 
him in here.” 

The maid retired and as the door closed upon her, 
DelMere repressed a .strong inclination to recall her and 
direct her to say that she was not at home; but that veiled 
suggestion jarred upon her and she refrained. 

In a short time the door again opened and the maid 
ushered Alfred Raymond into the presence of the great 
artiste. 


140 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Corina DelMere, without giving a thought to her ap- 
pearance or the object of her caller, stepped forward to 
the middle of the room and stood directly under the light, 
then stopped. A successful singer, a great artiste, a beauti- 
ful woman, yet a woman almost without a heart; why she 
had consented to receive her caller she had not stopped to 
think. In fact the matter was to her of so little conse- 
quence that she had not deemed it worthy of a thought. 
She had moved forward more from habit than curiosity, 
and consequently felt absolutely no interest in the affair. 

As her cold, indifferent gaze met those grand golden- 
gray eyes, all her coldness passed, all her indifference 
vanished away, leaving her feeling almost awkward and 
uncomfortable. 

Struggling to regain her composure she murmured, 
“Y6u wished to see me? Will you not be seated?” 

With a quick, graceful movement, her caller wheeled 
a divan forward, saying, with a graceful bow as he did so, 
“After you, Mademoiselle.” 

As she sank into the seat, from her confused thoughts 
came this question: Who was this man with the face of a 
God, and the manner of a prince ? 

In all her life she had never experienced such a feeling 
as now passed over her. Her mind was in a whirl. She 
felt almost afraid. But the calm tone of deference and 
respect with which he addressed her reassured her and 
partially restored her control. 

He was speaking with all the firmness of a man and 
all the naivette of a child. Fascinated, she could not re- 
move her gaze from that beautiful face and those wonderful 
eyes. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 141 

He stopped speaking and was waiting for her to reply. 
“ But,” said she, struggling as in a maze, “ I have never 
taught — I am afraid, — ” she stammered, — he interrupted 
her, — she listened, — “ Of course, Mademoiselle DelMere, 
I know that you will consider that I am most imperti- 
nent, — ” she made a motion of dissent, “ that I should 
suggest such a thing, but, but you have such a wonderful 
method, and I will tell you truly, I have,” he paused as a 
dark flush swept over his handsome face, and he bent his 
head as he continued, “ I have no voice, but I want very 
much to try — will you help me ? ” 

His hands -were held out in mute supplication. 

For a moment she hesitated, then slowly she replied, 
“I will try.” 

“ Thank you,” said he simply, and at that reply the 
eyes of the great singer filled with tears ; such tears as she 
had never known before. 

“ Of course,” continued he, “ we will have to make 
definite arrangements, and I wish to say right here that it 
will be very hard for you, for the voice that I have is very 
dreadful to hear, but I will do the best I can that it shall not 
shock you too much, but I would consider it unfair to you 
did I not explain all of this now.” 

Remaining a little longer, all arrangements were com- 
pleted and Alfred Raymond withdrew. 

Dismissing her maid for the night, Corina DelMere 
sat until late trying to solve the mystery that seemed to 
brood over the whole transaction. 

A few days later the work was started, the usual order 
being laid aside, for Alfred at first refused to utter a note 
in the presence of his gifted instructress, preferring to work 


142 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

upon theory and thought until he should dare to try for 
practical results. 

The following week the bill opened at the opera with 
Faust with DelMere singing Marguerite; at first the great 
audience could not understand; DelMere was at the spin- 
ning wheel ; there was a whisper over the great auditorium, 
“ DelMere is singing ! ” now it was in the prison scene with 
Faust — - “ Thee I loved and only thee ” — heads were 
bowed — she was singing, and the tribute was tears ; at the 
finale such an ovation was given as has ever been accorded 
to but few. Corina DelMere was finding her soul. 

Alfred worked incessantly, unfalteringly; a little 
ground would be gained, then, like a house of blocks, the 
whole structure would fall to pieces; then, after a short 
rest, with unfaltering courage he would rise, and from the 
ruins begin to build again; again a little higher ground, 
only to fall down again, until it was almost pitiful. His 
endeavors seemed doomed to everlasting disappointment; 
once Mdlle. DelMere implored him to stop, saying that he 
could not succeed; the voice would not yield. But the 
dogged persistence of the man beat down all opposition, 
and he set his face to the one object, to succeed or break in 
the endeavor. And now, after some years of the most 
heartbreaking effort, with success showing faintly on the 
dim horizon, his impaired strength was threatening disaster, 
almost at the very point of success. 

And so, after his encounter with Mr. VanDyke, too 
weak and exhausted to resist, he found himself aboard the 
Great Chicago Flyer three days later, separated for the first 
time from his mother and sister, speeding toward the great 
west, too wearied to even wonder what the future might 
hold in store for him. 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


M3 


CHAPTER VIII 

Up a superb sweep of avenue in the beautiful city of 
Carodina, upon a slight eminence, stands the Imperial 
palace of the Emperor Paul, the most magnificent royal 
residence in the world. 

The fluted columns of purest marble spring a hundred 
feet in the air and glisten in the sunlight with a strangely 
white and sinister appearance. 

Pillared like Karnak itself, it stands one of the greatest 
wonders of the age. 

It is night. A pale moon covers all like a beautiful 
veil. The Imperial palace stands out weird and ghostly. 
The little waves of the harbor sparkle in the moonlight as 
they lap themselves against the city walls. 

Sentries are upon guard at every point. The city is 
hushed, stunned. 

Within his splendid apartments the Emperor, a stern 
and haughty man of about seventy, sits alone. His proud 
head held rigidly erect; his fierce eyes gleaming. 

He has been smitten to the soul; but not for one mo- 
ment will he flinch or falter. 

Alone in all his splendor and grandeur, he is reaping 
the fruits of the past hardness of his selfish life. 

Feared and hated by all, crushing all who opposed 
him in any way, he found himself in the present bitter 
moment, alone. 

The past 'rose up before him in dim, ghostly array. 


144 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

He saw himself as he ascended the throne after his father, 
Philip the Cruel, at a very early age. 

Flattered, courted, every detestable trait developed to 
the extreme, it was not long before he became the most 
loathed and hated man in all Europe. 

But two people had ever had the courage to oppose 
him, the Empress, his wife, and the widow of his brother 
John; Miriam, Archduchess of Ainhault, and Princess of 
Polen, who had flouted him at almost every turn. 

The Empress; how he hated her. She had conquered 
him as she had said she would. He thought of her now 
as he had thought of her when they had brought him the 
first word of her, the daughter of that old Northern King, 
and almost religious fanatic, how he had hated him; how 
they had called her the most beautiful woman in all Europe. 
He remembered how, when he had sent his ambassadors 
to that Northern Country, desiring the hand of the proud, 
beautiful Princess in marriage, she had sent back his mes- 
sengers with the reply that, “ she would prefer to be burned 
at the stake, than unite her life with that of the vilest roue 
and fiend in all Europe.” 

His face burned again as he recalled that reply; a 
reply that had held him up to the whole world as an object 
of ridicule and scorn. 

He recalled how he had set himself to secure this 
woman by fair means or foul. How he had sworn to 
humble her as she had humbled him. How he would drag 
her pride in the dust as she had dragged his pride in the 
dust. If he were the vile creature she had named him, 
then he would make her the mate to that vileness, and thus 
make her the scorn of the whole world. He would make it 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 145 

appear that for the position he could bestow upon her as 
Empress, that she had been willing to forfeit everything 
to her ambition. So to that end, with all the vile cunning 
of his nature, he prepared himself to overcome this inno- 
cent and unsuspecting girl. 

Knowing her father and herself for deeply religious 
people, he prepared himself along every religious line that 
lay in his power. 

Possessed of a more than ordinarily attractive appear- 
ance, he could assume a seeming spiritual demeanor that 
he was far from possessing. Armed with letters of intro- 
duction from some of the greatest people of his court, he 
had sought that northern country, and with extreme cau- 
tion presented himself at the simple court of that honest 
old Patriarch of the North. 

With all the cunning he possessed he laid siege to the 
affections of that Northern Princess whom he found even 
more beautiful than rumor had said, so that now he desired 
to win her more than before. 

The seeming nobleness and gentleness of his character, 
together with his princely gifts toward the poor of her 
people, whom she loved deeply, won the beautiful girl, and 
the time came when the union between the two was 
indissolubly forged. 

A few months of happiness on the part of the un- 
suspecting Princess, and artfully concealed weariness upon 
his part, when he proposed to take his beautiful wife away 
to his country. 

The day of parting came; the Princess had never been 
separated a day from the father she so passionately loved, 
and as she knelt to receive his blessing, she drew him down 


146 My Land. My Country. My Home . 

to whisper in his ear, through her tears, the happiest secret 
a woman can have, to tell to him who had been both father 
and mother to her, that before she should see him again, 
her own little babe would be born. 

He remembered the day he had brought her to his 
home, if this magnificent pile could be called a home; the 
look of wonder upon her face, the bewilderment; until 
after escorting her to her own apartments, she had seen the 
royal insignia over all, when the truth burst upon her like 
an avalanche. 

Why was it that he would remember that day so dis- 
tinctly? She was standing in the midst of the magnificent 
salon of her private apartments. She had looked around 
in some bewilderment. Then she had looked at him, and 
at the look in those beautiful gray eyes he had shrunk back. 

He could hear her now, in that terribly colorless voice 
ask him one question. 

“ Who are you?” And he had not dared to refuse to 
reply ; nor yet had he dared to lie ; so, with all the bravado 
of his old spirit he had replied, “ I am the Emperor.” 

“ And I ? ” The question could not be evaded. 

“ You are the Empress.” She had gone white. For 
a moment he had thought that she would die. But she was 
a Princess, daughter of a hundred kings. She stood for a 
moment as if carved from alabaster; so pure, so white, so 
terrible she looked. Then she turned to him, and spoke, 
and her words pierced him like a two-edged sword, for, 
strange as it may seem, he had come to love this proud, 
beautiful woman with all the strength of his brutal, selfish 
nature ; and now that she would give him an heir soon had 
only intensified that passion. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 147 

“ You have done the foulest thing that man can do 
to woman. You have deceived me as never woman was 
deceived before. You have made me, a pure woman, the 
mate of the foulest beast that ever contaminated God’s 
holy, beautiful earth. You have made me a shame before 
all women. I, the daughter of a hundred kings, am made 
the mate to a consort of harlots and concubines. You 
have bowed my face in the dust. Well I know that I am 
your wife, and the Empress, and must become the mother 
of your son. Before the world I will appear as such, but 
between us there will be no relations; remember that I 
am your wife in name only, so far as God’s holy law will 
allow. I pronounce no curse upon you; I leave that to 
your own filthy, guilty conscience. And now, go; and 
never pass that threshold again until I send for you.” And 
slinking with shame and degradation, he, the mighty Em- 
peror, had crept away, flayed as never man had been 
flayed, by the tongue of a woman, and that woman, his 
wife, and Empress. 

How he hated her now. He recalled how she had 
sent for him, as she had said she would. She had lived her 
life apart from him. When occasion required she had ap- 
peared with him in public, and the people worshipped her, 
their beautiful Empress. She cultivated a disposition and 
character that was marvelous. She sang, her voice was 
beautiful; she laughed and was gay with her attendants; 
she worked incessantly among the poor and lowly ; the sick 
and afflicted; she strove to pour all the beauties of these 
virtues into the life that she knew must come from hers. 

And then had come that last day. She had sent for 
him and, not daring to refuse, he had gone. Upon the 


148 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

silken furnishings of her great bed she reclined against the 
matchlessly wrought pillows. Her exquisitely beautiful 
face was pale with a deathly palor. Her fair, golden hair, 
in two massive braids, lay adown either side of her. Her 
beautiful gray eyes shone with an unearthly lustre. In the 
presence of this woman, this woman whom he had so 
foully betrayed, he felt abashed and ashamed. 

As he entered the room she told her attendants to lift 
her up. She addressed him as from some great height. 
" I have sent for you,” he could hear her words now ; “ I 
have given you a son ; see to it that you rear him well ; see 
to it that he follows not in his father’s footsteps.” Then 
she spoke to another attendant, “ Lift up the child.” They 
did so. “ I leave him with you ; look well to it that you do 
not betray my trust, for I go from you now, but I shall 
return ; and from the grave, through him, I will strike you 
as you have stricken me; I will break you as you have 
broken me; I will lay your face in the dust as you have 
lain mine in the dust; now go.” 

An hour later they brought him word that she was no 
more. 

And was this what she had meant? Only that morn- 
ing he had had a stormy scene with that son, a man grown 
now, and steeped in all the vices of his day. 

The nation had demanded that a wife be chosen for 
him ; they desired an heir to the throne. To be sure there 
was John of Ainhault, but John of Ainhault did not seem 
to care for women ; and the people had not forgotten their 
beautiful Empress, whom they had idolized, despite his 
efforts to drag her down in their eyes; the more he had 
striven to lower her, the higher she had risen. They had 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 149 

been sorely disappointed in her son; in fact, they had lain 
all his shortcomings at the Emperor's door. 

So he had called his son to him that morning and 
expressed the wish of the people. The Crown Prince had 
remained sullen; the Emperor had then commanded him 
to quit his gay companions, as already his ambassadors were 
on their way to a foreign court to arrange for a union for 
him with a Princess of another house. Then the Crown 
Prince had replied, saying, that if he could not “ wed the 
woman of his choice, he would not wed at all.” Adding 
that as his “ father, the Emperor, had chosen his own wife,” 
he should do the same. To which the Emperor had found 
no reply; and in such wise were his own outrageous acts, 
and betrayal of his Empress, the mother of his son, being 
used against himself, like a lash and a scourge. 

The Emperor had threatened to banish the woman who 
had infatuated him, with all of his companions, unless he 
consented to obey the mandate set upon him by the court. 
The scene ended by the young man consiging the whole 
court and Empire to the Infernal regions before he would 
give up one of his chosen friends, and, hurling himself out 
from the Imperial presence, had mounted his horse and, 
joining his companions, was off on a wild ride through the 
mountains. 

And now, dark, black night had fallen down upon all. 

Down in the great Imperial chapel lay the body of the 
Imperial heir, crushed and dead. Riding alone with the 
woman of his choice, his horse had made a misstep, and 
horse and rider had gone over the awful precipice to his 
death. 

And the mighty Emperor sat alone in the midst of the 


150 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

ruin of all his hopes and plans. Was this what the Empress 
Mother had meant? He shuddered. 

At last he rang a bell. 

An attendant answered. 

“ Send Miron to me.” 

The attendant withdrew. 

A few minutes later Col. Miron entered and saluted. 

“ Miron,” said the Emperor, “ where have they lain 
him?” 

“ In the Imperial chapel, Your Majesty,” was the reply. 

“You have gotten the details of the accident?” 

“As far as I was able, Your Majesty.” 

“ And they are ? ” 

“ His Highness, the Crown Prince, tnet the party as 
previously arranged .” 

“ And that party? ” 

“ Were Prince Vladimer, Duke Auerlo, and several of 
the younger set, with Baroness Sophie, the Countess 
Zetta .” 

“ That woman ! ” 

“Yes, Your Majesty; it appears that His Highness 
and the Countess were riding considerably in advance of 
the rest of the party, when those coming behind were 
roused by the screams of the Countess. Riding furiously 
forward they met her, frantically urging them to hurry, as 
the Prince had gone over the precipice, his horse having 
stumbled.” 

“Is that all, Miron?” 

“No; it seems that His Highness and the Countess 
had had a quarrel.” 

“ Probably told her what I said this morning,” said 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 151 

the Emperor, grimly. “ You say they have carried him into 
the Imperial chapel ? ” 

“ Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“ Attend me. I will go there.” 

Col. Miron saluted as the Emperor passed before 
him, then turned and followed. 

Down the great corridor, past innumerable suites and 
apartments to the grand staircase, they passed, a grim, 
silent pair; but instead of going down the latter, the Em- 
peror turned aside, and drawing aside the tapestry, dis- 
closed a small private staircase that led to an almost un- 
known passage, which, in turn, led into the chapel by a 
private entrance ; through this they passed without 
encountering the sentry at the door. 

The beautiful chapel was but dimly lighted, in fact, 
the greater light came from the candles upon the altar. 

From where they stood at the left, they could see the 
black draped bier upon which rested the remains of the 
Crown Prince. 

The Emperor put his hand upon the shoulder of Col. 
Miron, and together they moved forward. Just as they 
were approaching the body, their attention was attracted 
by a slight movement outside the main entrance to the 
chapel. 

The Emperor stopped to listen ; there were sounds of 
an altercation of some kind. 

Motioning Col. Miron to follow him, he stepped 
into the heavy shadows behind the velvet hangings of the 
transept, yet in a position to see plainly without being seen. 

For a moment all was silent; then, down the center 


152 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

aisle could be seen approaching through the gloom the 
figure of a man. 

Before reaching the body he stopped and peered around 
through the shadows. Satisfying himself that he was 
alone, as he had dismissed the guard at the entrance, he 
stepped forward and came in full light of the candles that 
stood at the head of the bier. 

As the man came thus in the full light, the Emperor 
gave a start of surprise as he recognized the face of his 
brother, the Archduke Walther, and his mind was filled 
with the wonder as to what could have induced him to 
come to this place at this hour of the night. 

The Archduke stood for a moment motionless gazing 
down upon the rigid features before him, and the Emperor 
was startled as he saw the look of fierce, malignant hatred 
that distorted the features of his brother. 

Slowly the Archduke bent forward. 

Lower and lower his face sank, until only a few inches 
separated it from the face of the dead man. 

The Emperor, hardened as he was, could scarcely re- 
press a shudder at the sight of that face, which, bending 
down with fiercely parted lips, showing the strong white 
teeth, gave to it a look of frightfully wolfish ferocity. 

For a moment he neither moved nor spoke. An un- 
canny stillness rested over all. Then they saw his lips 
move. They heard a sound like the hiss of a deadly 
reptile. 

" So ! So !” Through the ghostly silence of the de- 
serted chapel the sound seemed intensified a hundredfold. 

The Emperor had laid his hand upon the arm of Col. 
Miron with a grip that seeemd almost enough to crush it, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 153 

yet in the intense interest neither were aware of the strong 
excitement that controlled them both. 

“ So ! so ! ” said he again. “ This, then, is the end ! 
For this I have schemed and wrought, and striven. To be 
brought to nothing at last. All of my plans, all of my toil, 
all of my years, all for nothing. ,, Through the dim, ghostly 
silence of the deserted chapel that horrible bloodcurdling 
sound, that deadly hissing was indescribable. Lower sank 
that fiendish, wolfish face. Nearer to that of the dead man. 
The eyes blazing with a fierce, maniacal light, seemed en- 
deavoring to pierce that death-white mask as if they would 
reach the soul of the dead man itself. 

“ You miserable, black-hearted whelp of hell.” 

Col. Miron made as if to interfere, but the Emperor 
restrained him. There was some dark secret buried here 
that would need to be unearthed, and the best way was to 
let matters take their own course. 

He was going on. 

“ It was for this that I sent your mother to an insane 
cell at Rildorph? It was for this that I stole the Emperor’s 
son away, and placed you in his stead, that you, my son, 
might come to the Imperial throne? Curse you! Curse 
you ! Curse you ! ” 

Low, deep, and fierce, he hurled the imprecations into 
the face of the dead man. 

The Emperor seemed paralyzed at the fiendish sight. 

“ It was for this that I risked my life, and crossed the 
sea to put his child forever out of reach, that you, my son, 
might rule in his stead? It was for this that I risked all, 
only to be cheated at the end by you? You cur! You 
snake! You viper!” and in his maniacal rage, he raised 


154 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

his hand and smote the dead man in the face. Again he 
raised his clenched fist, when he felt himself gripped with 
an iron hand. 

“Hold! In the name of God, what are you doing? 
Are you mad? ” 

“ Merciful heavens ! the Emperor 1 ” said he, as he 
cowered down before that awful sight. His brain reeled. 
Like lightning his mind worked. How much had the Em- 
peror heard? How much did he know? He shuddered. 

The Emperor spoke. 

“ What does this mean ? What was this man to you ? 
What did you mean by calling him your son ? ” The Em- 
peror seemed possessed of the strength of twenty men, as 
he crushed him back against the rail of the altar. His 
terrible eyes seemed to go down into the very soul of the 
man and drag his guilty secret from him. “ Tell me,” said 
he fiercely, “ what was this man to you ? ” 

“ He is my son,” came the gasping reply. 

“Your son!” almost shouted the Emperor. “Where, 
then, is my son? Tell me, or I will tear your black heart 
out and trample it under my feet.” 

“ Mercy ! mercy ! ” cried the miserable man before him. 

“ Mercy ! ” hissed the Emperor. “ What mercy have 
you shown to me or mine, that you dare ask for mercy 
now?” 

The other cowered down, shivering as with an ague. 

“ Tell me,” said the Emperor, pointing to the dead 
man, “ Did he know this?” 

“ No,” was the reply, “ no one but his mother and I.” 

“ And it was that which destroyed her reason ? ” 

“ Yes.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 155 

The Emperor flung his brother from him as if he had 
been some deadly viper, where, at the very foot of the altar 
he lay, half stunned. Then, turning to Col. Miron, he said, 
" Miron — ” 

“ Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“ You have heard? ” 

Miron bowed, speechless. 

“ Call a guard, and have this body removed to Rildorph, 
and buried there. Bring him,” indicating the Arch- 
duke, “ to my apartments, and then send for John of Ain- 
hault.” Then turning, he strode down the aisle, and re- 
turned to his own apartments by way of the grand stair- 
case, where, upon reaching them, he found himself in almost 
as awkward a position as before, in fact, more so; for, in 
the event of the death of the Crown Prince, John of Ain- 
hault stood next in line, and the wheels of state would roll 
on without any seeming jar or disturbance whatever. Now 
from what he could gather from the wild, incoherent 
speech of his brother, the real heir to the throne had been 
carried away in infancy into that new country of the West, 
which he detested, and associated in his thought with 
slaves, plebeians and barbarians. In that case, suppose the 
rightful heir should have survived, what manner of man 
would or could he be? 

At that moment a page announced John of Ainhault. 

“ Admit him.” 

The latter entered and saluted. 

“ John,” said the Emperor, “ I presume you are sur- 
prised that I should send for you at this hour of the night, 
but I have some very strange and important news to com- 


156 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

municate to you, and the sooner you hear it the better. 
Be seated.” 

The latter sat down. 

“ In the first place, I wish to warn you that it is very 
shocking, and pertains to the death of the Crown Prince.” 

John of Ainhault did not take his eyes from the 
speaker's face. 

“ I learned to-night,” continued the Emperor, “ that 
the Crown Prince, or supposed Crown Prince Raoul, was 
not my son — ” 

“Your Majesty! What do you mean?” gasped the 
young man. “ Not your son? Who was he then? ” 

“ He was Walther’s son.” 

“Walther’s son!” ejaculated the young man. “My 
uncle ! ” 

“Yes, but hark, they are bringing Walther now! 
Compose yourself, we will now try to get to the bottom of 
the matter.” 

A page entered and announced Col. Miron and the 
Archduke Walther. 

“ Admit them.” 

John of Ainhault, observing the Archduke closely as 
he entered, attended by Col. Miron, saw the look of fear 
he cast upon the Emperor and the general air of dejection. 

Then the Emperor addressed himself to his brother. 
“ Now you may tell us the whole miserable story. You 
said the dead man was your son, and that you had carried 
my son away. Make no reservations or palliations what- 
ever, all I want is the plain, unvarnished truth. Go on.” 

The Archduke seemed unable to proceed. Finally Col. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 157 

Miron poured some brandy from a flask and gave it to 
him; after a little he told his story in a half broken, waver- 
ing manner. They did not interrupt him. 

“ When the Empress died and left her little son so 
unprotected, the thought came to me, what a chance for 
me to put my son upon the throne; I knew how careless 
attendants were so I felt that I had little to fear from that 
source. The only one I had to fear was my wife, so I took 
her away to Rildorph and then I changed the children, as 
my son was about the same age as the Crown Prince. 
When my wife learned that the child she was nursing was 
not hers she sent for me and demanded her son; I told 
her that her son was dead; she refused to believe me, de- 
claring that she would appeal to the Emperor. Fearing her 
threats I had her confined, and gave out the report that 
her mind had given way, the shock of the sudden death of 
our child being the cause. In the midst of the confusion 
thus precipitated, she was stricken with brain fever, which 
shattered her mind. Leaving her in the care of a faithful 
attendant and nurse, I took your son, whom I felt it was 
dangerous to allow to remain in this country, and, under 
the plea of traveling for my health, I obtained permission 
from your Majesty to go upon the continent, but instead I 
took ship for America. There I left him and returned and 
no one suspected my errand. The rest you know/’ 

“ Your Majesty,” said John of Ainhault, “ this is 
terrible ! I have never heard anything like it ! What steps 
will you take to find this child, your son ? ” 

The question acted as a relief to the overwrought 
brain and nerves of the Emperor and set his mind to work- 
ing in a different channel. At the suggestion to find the 


158 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

rightful heir to the throne, his thoughts caught at it as a 
drowning man will catch at a straw. 

“Yes! Yes!” said he, “he must be found! Tell 
me,” said he, turning to Walther, “ you know where you 
left him?” 

“ I did not stop to inquire the name of the people, but 
I can go to the place again.” 

“ Enough,” said the Emperor, “ call the guard. Miron, 
he is your prisoner,” indicating his brother. “ I hold you 
responsible. Attend to him and return at once.” 

Col. Miron saluted and left the apartment with the 
Archduke and after a few minutes returned, and all ar- 
rangements pertaining to the search were completed. 


In the gray dawn of the early morning the Emperor 
stood at the window of his great salon. All night long he 
had not once closed his eyes. They in their fierce in- 
tensity had endeavored to pierce into the future. He had 
been assailed by a hundred doubts. Above all the thought 
had been that his son, the son of his beautiful, disdainful 
Empress, still lived; and the strange part was that, from 
the day she had bade the nurse lift up the child, he had 
not so much as laid his eyes upon him. Was this what 
she had meant by that last warning? Already he could 
hear the whisperings and wonderings of his people. His 
people? He would crush them did they dare censure him, 
but the rest of his great world, how could he deal with 
them? And with that thought his hatred grew. Hatred 
toward the Empress who had so effectually scorned and 
despised him. Hatred toward the son he had almost never 


My Land. My country. My Home. 159 

seen. Hatred for the man who was dead, and who had 
given him so many uneasy hours ; and bitter, deadly hatred 
toward the brother who had brought about all this con- 
fusion. In seeking to fix the blame for it all the mighty 
Paul overlooked the most important fact, and the key to 
the whole situation, and that was, that, had he himself 
been one-hundred part the man he should have been, all of 
his present loneliness and discomfort might have been 
avoided. 

As to this child whom they had gone to seek — 
Child! why he was not a child, he was a man, that is, if 
he were still alive — Ah! suppose he were not alive! 
Suppose he were dead! Almost he wished he was dead. 
If he was dead it would simplify matters very much. 
John of Ainhault would be the Crown Prince. John of 
Ainhault would have to set aside his indifference toward 
women and marry, and so provide an heir to the throne 
that the line of the mighty Philip should remain unbroken. 
Then doubts began to assail him. Suppose the child 
should have survived and come to manhood, what manner 
of man must he be? There were none but boors, plebeians 
and barbarians in that land of new growth ; like the mush- 
room or other fungi, it was only at best a parasite; and 
his brow grew dark as he tried to picture what this man 
could be like. But all shape, all form avoided him. His 
inability to pierce the veil of the future lashed him at 
every turn. 

He sneered at conscience, but conscience stung him at 
every point. Turn whichever way he would, her sharp, 
needle-like thrusts pricked through the joints of his pride 
and strength until he found her almost unbearable. 


160 My Land. My Country. My Home . 

“ I will come back as from the grave, and through 
him I will strike you as you have stricken me ; I will break 
you as you have broken me; I will lay your face in the 
dust as you have lain mine in the dust.” 

Those words seemed burned into his brain as with a 
hot iron, and they blistered and scorched the very soul of 
him. 

Was it true what she said? He could see her now as 
he saw her then. He could hear those deep bell-like tones 
now as he heard them then. 

When the supposed Crown Prince was killed he had 
felt almost relief, for he believed that he was about to be 
freed from that awful imprecation ; but now he was caught 
in the toils like Lacoon of old, more firmly than ever. 

And this boor, this barbarian who was coming, what 
would he do with him? He began to hate him afresh. 
What would he do with him? Up in the apartments that 
had been occupied by the Empress mother was a mag- 
nificent picture, life size, of the Empress in all her exquisite 
beauty. In spotless white from head to foot, crowned 
only with her beautiful, fair golden hair, she looked all 
that she was, a Royal Princess, daughter of a hundred 
kings, and an Empress direct from the hand of God, as 
she had been God’s true handmaiden upon earth. 

Yes, he knew she was a pure and holy woman, and 
he hated her all the more for that. 

Ah ! He knew what he would do ; he would command 
that those apartments should be prepared for this creature 
that was to come. He should be flung, so to speak, in the 
very midst of all that magnificence and exquisite luxury 
that had so helped to adorn the beauty of the woman he 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 161 

now so bitterly hated. Had adorned ? Curse her ! It had 
not adorned her, she had adorned it. 

He should be brought face to face with the great 
beauty of the mother who bore him ; this great, awkward, 
uncouth gawk ; who knows, maybe the spirit of the Empress 
still flitted through those rooms ; if it did it would see this 
creature of hers and mayhap cause it to feel shame. 

He should rest upon the very bed in which he had 
been born. His awkward, uncouth head should press the 
dainty silken pillows hers had pressed. He, Paul, would 
show them whether they would lay his face in the dust. 

Somewhere he had read or heard of visiting the sins 
of parents upon the children. Yes, that was what he 
would do; he would visit the shortcomings of the Empress 
toward him, upon her son, until he would wish to flee to 
the uttermost parts of the earth. 

Filled with his dark and evil thoughts he gave orders 
that the apartments of the Empress should be prepared for 
the man who was to come; but that nothing that had been 
used should be removed, only such things added that the 
coming man might need. 

So, brooding over the affair, he shut himself in his 
apartments, going out only when affairs of state required it. 

While he still lingered at the window, in the gray of 
the early morning, two great ironclads, veritable floating 
fortresses, slowly took their way out of the beautiful 
harbor on their way to sea. 

Strange rumors began to circulate. Mere whispers. 
John of Ainhault was gone. Col. Miron was gone. The 
Emperor’s brother, Archduke Walther, was gone. Ad- 
miral Sefton and the Emperor’s own physician, Sir Isaac 


162 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Davis, and several other important men were gone. Two 
of the great battleships had departed secretly. The Em- 
peror had shut himself up in his royal palace. The Crown 
Prince’s body had been taken away by night. Hush! 
Don’t whisper it, but ’tis said ’twas not the Crown Prince, 
’twas Walther’s son. What! Walther’s son? Yes, the 
Crown Prince had been stolen when an infant. You don’t 
say so ! Yes, and carried away to America. What ! To 
that wild country? Yes, and they have gone to find him. 
To find him? And bring a barbarian to rule over us? 
Why they say the people there are all savages! Oh, no, 
not savages. Well, little better. 

And so the rumors ran, wilder and still more wild, and 
no one could tell how or where it would end. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


163 


CHAPTER IX 

In his compartment of the luxurious sleeper Alfred 
Raymond sat half unconscious of the rapidly changing 
scene as the train sped up along the Hudson. 

With eyes half closed and unseeing, feeling only the 
deadly heaviness of an overpowering weariness that began 
to threaten to engulf him, he reclined against the back of 
the seat as the hours passed, nor seemed to move. 

At last, after some hours, roused somewhat from the 
painful weariness that oppressed him by the porter, who, 
becoming anxious, had approached and requested to be 
allowed to serve his meals to him in the sleeper, he turned 
toward the window, after having dismissed the man, saying 
that he wished nothing, and was again sinking back into 
the same condition from which he had been almost pain- 
fully drawn, when his eyes, half seeing the landscape 
which seemed to flit by the window, caught and held some 
half familiar, half forgotten scenes. 

Some far-distant wooded hills, then a distant view of a 
narrow, ribbon-like, dusty road stretching away toward 
the forest-covered hills. 

Half unconsciously he leaned forward and looked in- 
tently upon the scene. 

From different indications he could see that they were 
approaching some stopping point, yet the great flyer did 
not abate even a little of her speed. 

Now, thoroughly aroused, he leaned forward, his 


164 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

beautiful, cameo-like face almost pressed against the 
window. 

Only a short space of time had elapsed since he had 
been threatened by a complete collapse. Now he leaned 
forward motionless, every muscle set, every nerve taut. 
His lips parted, through which the breath was now passing 
with a fierce intensity. 

What had happened to so thoroughly transport the 
man from an almost death-like stupor to a fierce, living 
activity? 

With a scream and roar the train tore past the little 
wayside station. 

Alfred, leaning intently forward, caught a confused 
outline of the place ; only in the midst of the blurred scene 
the little white swinging sign stood out clear and distinct 
with the name of the station in bold black letters. 

Almost at the same instant the car dashed across the 
white dusty road, and he caught one fleeting look as it 
stretched away to the west. 

For a few minutes he seamed to have lost conscious- 
ness, then he began slowly to return to life. 

What was it? 

He felt as if some hand had struck him a terrible blow 
in the chest. 

He had been leaning forward, looking for he knew not 
what. 

When he recovered his thoughts he was leaning, white 
and spent, against the back of the seat. 

His confused thoughts began to rearrange themselves, 
and clearly now he could see the one word that had 
changed for him the whole journey ; the one word that 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 165 

had in an instant swept away the intervening years and 
carried him back to the years of his childhood. 

And that one word, the name of the little wayside 
station through which he had just passed, “ Bentwell,” 
together with the fleeting glance of the narrow dusty road, 
as it stretched away toward the distant hills of Bentberg, 
were the powerful influences that had wrought this sud- 
den and timely change. 

The years that had elapsed since the night of their 
hurried and painful flight had been so filled with the duties 
that had followed so quickly that they had succeeded to a 
very great degree in deadening the pain of parting with 
the past and its many pleasant as well as unhappy memories. 

Now these were all obliterated and only the past 
remained. 

Sharp, distinct and clear the memory of that unhappy 
night stood out before him. 

The present had suddenly ceased. His surroundings 
were as if they had not been. He was living again in the 
past. 

Back over the dusty road he was retracing the steps 
of long ago. The painful burden of the sleeping child 
again hung heavily down from his young shoulders. 

Then he felt with a keen pain that that little sister 
had been asleep these many years in the village church- 
yard. Again he descended the hill to Farmer Jim Beaton’s 
barn and he was standing outside in the darkness listening 
to the familiar sounds from within. 

Again he felt himself vaulting over the rail fence that 
bounded the great meadow, the delightful shock of the 
cold morning dew on his little bared feet and legs. 


1 66 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Now he heard the old dog barking as he came running 
to meet him. He could feel the warm, soft feel of Old 
Shep’s beautiful collar as they raced across the great 
meadow in wild, exuberant joy. 

Now he was coming up the path that led from the barn 
to the house, and there was a smile upon his handsome 
face, as in the vision of the past the happy boy looked up 
and saw those dear ones waiting for him. 

» Now he was in the present; and his thoughts were sad. 

Where were those loved ones now? Had they for- 
gotten? The thought was a painful one. He put it away. 
Or did they remember? He had remembered, at times, 
even when his mother had thought he had forgotten. 

What was this? The past and present were coming 
so close together. 

He knew he was sitting in the great flyer speeding into 
the west, yet he could feel the warm, loving embrace of 
good Mrs. Beaton and hear her dear voice again. 

Now he felt himself lying across a great manly chest 
closely held by a great strong arm ; and at the feel of that 
arm as it held his little warm boyish form clasped in close, 
loving embrace, his eyelids began to smart, and over his 
eyes there sprea.d a dim, misty look. 

Those great strong hands of Farmer Jim. He could 
see them now as they were held down to him the morning 
they lifted hint up to Old Charlie’s broad back. He re- 
membered now how he had looked at his own little childish 
hands as they clasped them upon Farmer Jim’s big strong 
ones. He could feel the warm, moist feel of them now, 
and unconsciously he leaned forward, then he came back 
to the present, his hand was reaching out, but it touched 


My Land. My Country. My Home. \6j 

only emptiness, and a sharp pain smote him, he was a man 
now, but the child soul still lived within him; and he 
longed with a great longing to be able to go and lay him- 
self, just for a moment, upon that great loving heart and 
feel close clasped about him those great loving arms again ; 
for, had not this man been to him such a father as his own 
father had not been? 

His father. Again he was traversing the cool, wet 
wood path in the early morning. Again his throat began 
to throb, his chest to ache. The lights and shadows of 
that September day passed before him again. 

And then the day of the festival — 

He wished they would not trouble him. It was the 
porter, he was spreading a little table before him and 
putting things into his hand and urging him to eat; really 
he was not hungry, but then the porter had seemed so dis- 
tressed, so he ate, and it did seem good, and after a while 
he was through, and there was a bright shining silver 
piece in the porter's hand, and he looked up and smiled, and 
then the porter gave that strange salute, and then he was 
alone again and busy with the past yet feeling the present. 

Now it was good Mrs. Beaton, and she was telling 
him that wonderful story, and suddenly he felt himself 
crushed up close to her, and he wanted to laugh and he 
wanted to cry, because her arms felt so good around him; 
and she was just like — yes, just like a mother; you know 
he couldn't love anyone else just like he loved his mother; 
so the love he bore for Mary Beaton had a warm sunny 
spot in his heart all to itself. 

So often she had scolded him and petted him at the 
same time, and he remembered that it always made him 


1 68 My Land. My Country. My Home, 

laugh that laugh that seemed to come from away down 
somewhere, and ripple up all over him, and all who heard 
it had to laugh too. 

Now he was back at the festival again. And there was 
a sharp pain at his heart and such a dreary ache around 
his throat as he looked toward Mr. Beaton’s pew and saw 
his mother with the baby, Beatrice, clasped so close to her. 

Had mother known, somehow, that the dear little 
baby sister was going away soon ? And was that what had 
made her dear face look so gray and sad? 

Mother was so different from other people. She did 
not talk much, but somehow, when you were where mother 
was, you felt so that you wanted to be just what you felt 
mother wanted you to be. 

And he had not yet grown away from the old, boyish 
feeling that, when she was near, he must stretch out his 
hand and touch her; and so, often now when she started 
up the stair, he always rushed up and his strong arm would 
go out around her, and she would smile when he would give 
her that little hug before he let her go at the top of the 
stair. 

Then that day he had coaxed her to go to the art 
gallery. Mother did not like to go out much, for she could 
not get used to the electric cars. But he had persuaded 
her and they went, and when they had boarded the car it 
started up quickly, but he was standing so close to her that 
he caught her against his breast with scarcely a jar, and 
he had taken hold of her and lifted her down to the seat 
so gently and firmly; and mother had turned her dear face 
up to his handsome, manly face, all lit up with a smile 
which seemed to penetrate to the very centre of his soul, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 169 

while all around seemed bathed in a beautiful, rosy light. 
But he had not noticed that the other passengers were 
watching, and seemed to bask in the radiant sunlight of 
that smile. Ah, blessed, thrice blessed are the mothers 
of men. 

He leaned slightly forward and saw Mrs. Beaton 
holding little Margaret in her arm with the dear little 
chubby hand pressed so tightly aginst her lips; the little 
Margaret, why she was almost as tall as he now; she was 
his big sister now. He recalled the day she was eating an 
apple and had thrown the core at him from pure mischief. 

He had called her to come and pick it up. She had 
answered that “ she would not,” then she ran, but he caught 
her, and picking her up in his strong arms had carried her 
back, helpless from laughter, and stooping down closed her 
hand upon the offending apple core, then carried both out 
to the kitchen and dropped the core in the stove, . saying, as 
he placed her on her feet, “ don’t you tell me you won’t, 
young lady.” And mother had said, “ When will you two 
ever grow up ? ” 

He was hearing the great organ now. It was coming 
nearer, nearer, then a little stir; he looked up, the porter 
was saying, “Shall I make up your berth for you, sir?” 
He came back to the present. The berth was made up; 
the porter lingered and helped him to prepare for the night, 
with a sigh of relief he lay back as the porter drew the 
blankets up around him and fastened the draperies, leaving 
him sleeping soundly as the train sped on through the night 
and the dark. 

In the light of the early morning the train drew into 
the station at Chicago. 


170 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

After a few hours’ delay, safely aboard the westward- 
bound train, he found himself speeding on his way. 

The heavy lethargy had been dispelled; the awful 
mental weariness broken. With awakening interest he 
was looking out upon the flying scene as it passed rapidly 
by the narrow limits of the window, and finding something 
new at each step of the way, until, three days from the 
time he left New York, the train stopped at the little way 
station, which was little more than a flagging point, of Ball’s 
Forks. 

A long, dusty, weary ride in a rough farm wagon, and 
in the late afternoon they stopped at a large rambling 
ranch house, having reached the end of his journey. Here 
he found himself warmly welcomed by Mrs. Richards, the 
wife of the owner of the ranch, who explained that her 
husband had been compelled to be away from home, having 
been called out upon the range with his men looking after 
some cattle. 

Being shown to the room he was to occupy, which was 
on the ground floor, with windows looking out upon the 
wide shady veranda, he began at once to get rid of the 
stains of travel. 

Although inexpressibly wearied in body, his elastic 
spirit was beginning to assert itself ; for, as he bent over 
the wash bowl to bathe his face and hands, he found great 
difficulty in following it from side to side, for it seemed as 
if mounted upon great heavy car wheels which bounded 
back and forth, striking the rail a sharp ringing blow at 
every swing. 

At last, becoming thoroughly wearied of following it 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 171 

back and forth, and trying to avoid dashing the water 
everywhere except upon his face, he grasped the sides of 
the wash stand firmly and held it in its place until he got it 
stopped, then he proceeded to finish his toilet. 

After having finished, he started to leave the room, 
but remembering the wild gyrations of the wash stand, he 
turned to look if he might see where the legs had hit the 
rails, until he had grasped and held it and gotten it stopped, 
thereby keeping it from further injury. As he stood look- 
ing intently at it slowly the thought began to pentrate, that 
it was he, and not the wash stand, that had been perform- 
ing those wild antics ; and at the memory of it there rolled 
out over the quiet stillness a wave of rich laughter, and a 
few moments later, as he stepped out upon the veranda, 
the transformation of the man was to Mrs. Richards a 
genuine surprise. 

The man who had gone in so shortly before had looked 
wearied unto death ; now she was looking into those golden- 
grey eyes, out from which looked the unsullied soul of a 
child-man, with all the frank, smiling fearlessness of a 
boy, and she did not see the wasted face, the almost 
emaciated form, and the thin, bloodless hands. 

With a feeling alternating between wonder and awe, 
she urged him into a seat, while she hurried away to her 
household duties, leaving him alone with the great spirit 
of the West, which was fast gathering about with the com- 
ing of the night. 

A few days of rest in that wonderful vitalizing air, 
which poured its wine-like virtues into his wasted body 
with marvelously healing and strengthening effects, sufficed 
to revitalize his almost prostrate energies so that very soon 


172 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

he forsook the cushioned chairs and settees of the veranda 
for the open adjoining the ranch buildings. 

The magnificent stretches of the surrounding country 
were to him a revelation. With the exception of the first 
boyhood years of his life, the greater part had been spent 
almost wholly within the brick and mortar limits of the 
city. 

Now as he was brought within the very heart of nature 
itself the old, wonderful, free spirit began to assert itself, 
and, as he stood thus once more face to face with God’s 
own kingdom, the kingdom of the free, with his face turned 
toward the distant hills, over him would come a strange 
longing; a longing, almost as it were, to dissolve and be- 
come a throbbing, breathing, living part of it. 

One day on one of his rambles he came upon a large 
inclosure, almost corral, confined within which was a band 
of half-wild young horses. His nostrils began to quiver 
and dilate as the smell of their sleek young bodies was 
borne to him on the light breeze. His hands began to itch 
and tingle just to touch, to fondle and caress them, and it 
was in the midst of these that Mr. Richards found him a 
few days later upon his return from the range. 

“ Hi, there?” he called. “ Better get o’ that! You’re 
liable to get your head kicked off. Some of those young- 
sters are rather nasty.” 

From the midst of the horses that were crowded thickly 
around him Alfred Raymond turned at the sound of that 
call; then quietly scattering the contents of the sack he 
was carrying, he pushed them gently, yet fearlessly, aside 
and stepped toward his host with outstretched hand, to find 


My Land. My Country. My Horne. 173 

himself looking into a kindly shrewd face that resembled 
Mrs. Peter VanDyke’s very closely. 

“ Van said you were pretty well used up and you do 
look some peaked, but old Arizona ’ll set you up if any- 
thing will; most wonderful air in the world.” 

“ It certainly is,” was the smiling reply, “ but don’t 
tell me it will bring the dead back to life,” and up surged 
that delicious wave of laughter, in which Mr. Richards 
joined heartily, as he said, “Cut your eye-teeth, I see. 
How is it,” said he, “ fond of horses? ” 

At the question Alfred turned to the band of young 
horses and gave a low whistle. Almost at once a fine young 
sorrel, with a coat like polished satin, and a beautiful 
flowing mane and tail of a lighter shade, that shone like 
silk in the sunlight, left the band and came toward him. 
Coming up to within about ten feet of the two men, she 
stopped and thrust out her beautiful head inquiringly, and 
nickered soft and low. 

The soft silky forelock waved back and forth in the 
light breeze, half shading the beautiful brown eyes. 

Mr. Richards watched the two closely. 

Alfred put his hand in his pocket, then drew it out 
slowly, upon the palm lay a little white cube. 

The sorrel walked up and began to nose for the sugar ; 
he took her head in his hands, fondled her ears and face, 
stroked her mane, patted her gently, and then gave her the 
sugar; fondling and caressing her as he did so. Then 
turning to his questioner he said simply, “ I love them ; and 
I have always said, Mr. Richards, that, you show me a 
man’s horses, and let me watch him handle them, and I will 
tell you what manner of man he is.” 


174 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ By jove!” ejaculated Mr. Richards, “you are right. 
D’ y’u ever ride ? ” 

“ A little,” was the quiet reply, and as he held the 
sorrel for a moment his mind went back to his boyhood 
days with Farmer Jim, and old Charlie, and the sorrel 
colt; then he let her go back to the others. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Richards, “ there’s plenty of saddles 
and riggin’s around, and she’s old enough to ride, so if you 
care to try why I won’t object, and I guess you don’t need 
any extra showing.” 

About a week later Mr. Richards, coming hurriedly 
toward the ranch house, encountered Alfred starting out 
for one of his daily “ prowls ” as he called them. 

“ Say, Raymond ! I got to go out upon the range to- 
day, d’ y’u want to ride along ? ” 

“ I certainly do,” was the reply, then smilingly adding, 
“ I was hoping for an invitation.” 

“ Well, get the sorrel ready.” 

“The sorrel?” 

“ Yes, we’ll ride easy and the run won’t hurt her any.” 

Out upon the broad reaches they rode into the bound- 
less expanse of distance. 

Mr. Richards, riding with all the experience of an old 
plainsman, watched his companion closely. 

Alfred and the sorrel moved as one. The harmony 
of movement between the two was perfect. A thing he 
noticed with pleasure and satisfaction was, that while 
Alfred never let the sorrel have her head, yet he never 
fretted her at all; when she shied once or twice at the 
sudden dash of a rabbit or bird, he spoke quietly and 
patted her, and very soon she ceased to notice any of the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 175 

little trifling things along the way. The confidence al- 
ready established was remarkable, and when they reached 
the ranges she was apparently as fresh as when they started. 

The experience to him was wonderful; never had he 
thought of looking upon such a sight as this; the seeming 
boundless expanse of grazing land, the thousands of cattle 
with the moving cowboys among them, was to him a 
revelation. Then the ride home over the prairie by star- 
light. Would he ever forget it? He did not think so. 
He was sure that he would not. 

A few days later he rode back to the ranges alone, 
equipped for a stay, where he received a hearty welcome 
from Jimmy Doran, the man who had driven him over from 
the station; and then began a new life for him; a life of 
real earnest. 

Up at break of day with the men, bearing his part of 
the duties. Out on the ranges, working with the boys with 
the cattle, proved the most perfect restorative, the greatest 
prescription that ever could be recommended. 

After a few weeks, one looking at his splendid frame 
and handsome smiling face could scarcely believe that this 
could be the frail, emaciated man who had come to this 
place only so short a time before. 

As his strength and vitality returned, the old painful 
longing awoke in his chest and throat, and became at last 
so insistant that one day, unable to resist the great desire 
longer, he sprang upon the sorrel and galloped away to a 
distant wooded hill. 

There, while out looking for some straying cattle one 
day, he had found a peculiar formation of rock. Ap- 
proaching from the side of the plain by an easy slope, he had 


176 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

come upon a large projecting rock, or boulder, that faced 
a great opening, like an amphitheatre. 

Throwing the bridle over the head of the horse, so 
that it would trail, and act as a loose tether at the same 
time, he left her to crop the grass while he made his way 
up to the top of the rock. 

For a moment he stood, then he lifted his face as of 
old, and out over the great silence rolled a tone of incom- 
parable beauty. 

The weeks of rest and recreation had been of incal- 
culable benefit. The light flexible air bore the tone out 
with wonderful elasticity. 

Up and up went that superb voice ; just trying, pausing, 
soaring, like a bird, trying its wings after some long en- 
forced imprisonment might try, after having come to its 
freedom again. 

Scales, skips, runs; incredible jumps; just one wild 
grand burst of melody from that golden throat. 

After having worked for some time he stopped to 
regain his breath. Through the vast living silence he 
heard the plaintive whinny of Golden Betty, the sorrel. 
He turned in her direction, and standing motionless for a 
moment, while all about seemed to be waiting and listen- 
ing, he lifted his handsome flushed face, his wonderful 
eyes glowing with an unquenchable inward fire, then be- 
ginning upon a low note he ascended through a most beau- 
tiful cadence, up, and finished upon an extremely high note, 
that ending like a thread of purest gold, seemed almost 
superhuman. 

He made his way back to his horse, running and leap- 
ing like a beautiful wild thing from sheer joy. And why 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 177 

should he not? Had not the wonderful golden-throated 
nightingale returned to him again, more wonderful, more 
beautiful than ever? 

He felt he wanted to let all the world know and hear ; 
he felt so full of joy. His mother; how she would rejoice 
with him; she had been so fearful. He wanted to tell 
her; it seemed he could scarcely wait to tell her; she must 
be the first to know. 

He came out into the open where the sorrel welcomed 
him with a glad low whicker. He went to her and putting 
his arms around her exquisitely arched neck held her closely 
pressed to him for a moment; she, meanwhile, nosing in 
his pocket for sugar. 

After having given her the coveted sweet he threw the 
bridle over his arm, and placing his hand upon her neck, he 
ran for about a mile; his splendid body bending forward 
like a young Indian, his weight thrown forward upon the 
ball of the foot, which again upbore him like a fine steel 
spring. 

Day succeeded day, and the work of studying went 
steadily forward. He continued to live in the open among 
the cattle and horses, with the men, and the effects and 
benefit were wonderful. His fine temper and amiability en- 
deared him to all with whom he came in contact. While his 
returning health and strength soon permitted him to cope suc- 
cessfully with the work of grazing, rounding and handling 
the cattle, the experience was to him of inestimable value* 

It was the time of final rounding up. 

They were resting after a successful battle royal with 
the half-wild cattle. 

The wagon of supplies had been brought from the 


178 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

ranch house, for the work of moving that great herd to 
the corral could go on but slowly. 

The very horses they rode seemed keenly alive to the 
situation ; one false move, one unnecessary start, was liable 
to stampede the whole herd, and then would have to begin 
the work all over, while much greater damage might be 
done. 

It was late afternoon. Alfred was reading some letters 
from home, occasionally watching a big black steer that 
had given them considerable trouble. Golden Betty was 
grazing not far away. The great herd seemed compara- 
tively quiet. 

Two or three of the cowboys were endeavoring to 
digest a piece of news from the front page of a newspaper 
that had been put in with the supplies. 

One of them called to him : “ See here, Raymond. 

Listen to this/’ 

“What is it?” he replied. 

“What d’ y’u think of this?” said Jimmie Doran 
reading. “ ‘ Shocking Accident ! All Europe Aghast with 
Horror. His Imperial Highness, Raoul, Only Son of the 
Emperor Paul, and Heir to the Greatest Empire in the 
World, Instantly Killed, When the Horse He was Riding 
Went Over the Cliff at Rothaven/ ” 

“ Say, Raymond,” called one of the other men, 
“how’d you like to be a Crown Prince?” 

Alfred stood and looked at the great drove of cattle, 
then turned his eyes out upon the plain, and as his gaze 
returned, he said, in a low intense voice, “ Boys, Fd rather 
be the poorest cowboy on the plains of Arizona then to be 
tiie Emperor of the greatest dominion of the world. I 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 179 

would not exchange my birthright as an American citizen 
for all the thrones of the old world.” 

'‘Hooray!” shouted Jimmie, as he threw his hat in 
the air. “That’s the talk — ” 

“ Look there! ” said Alfred, breaking in upon his wild 
outburst. “ After them, boys, quick ! ” 

The black had been extremely hard to handle; he had 
resented fiercely being held in any kind of bondage, and at 
Jimmie’s wild “ Hooray ” he had flung up his head and sent 
back a defiant bellow, then wheeled and went tearing madly 
off across the prairie. 

Two or three others were beginning to drop out from 
the herd and were following in his wake; the great herd 
was beginning to move restlessly; unless something was 
done quickly all would be off. 

Alfred darted back to the sorrel, shortened up the 
stirrup straps, drew the surcingle tighter, then, flinging 
himself into the saddle, he was off like the wind in the 
wake of the running steer. 

Balancing himself upon the stirrups, and thrown well 
forward over the shoulders of the mare, his hands out- 
stretched • grasping the bit on either side of the head, his 
lithe muscular body swinging forward with every leap of 
the horse, impelling her ahead with a terrific velocity, he 
seemed fairly to fly over the ground. 

The other men made a wild dash for their horses, and 
very shortly all were under headway, frantically bent on 
breaking up the impending stampede. 

By this time the line of running cattle had increased 
considerably. As chaff upon a winnowing floor is blown 
by the current of air turned upon it, first a few shells, then 


180 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

a few more, then a perfect tornado of flying husks, so this 
flight was growing. 

Alfred and Golden Betty were rapidly overtaking the 
madly running steer. The black brute, his head low down, 
hearing the thundering hoofs of the flying sorrel, was 
straining every nerve to escape. Slowly they crept upon 
him. Now they were nearly abreast. 

Alfred drew the swiftly running mare close up to the 
steer, which began to swerve to the left; the more he 
swung off, the more Alfred drew in on him until he suc- 
ceeded in getting him to running in a wide circle. 

As the leader began thus to veer to the left, the fol- 
lowing flying cattle, urged by the other men, began to 
come to a like circle ; the great herd by this time beginning 
to swing around in unison with the outer band of runaways. 

Gradually swinging them in* closer, the mounted men, 
their horses running at full speed, succeeded in encircling 
the entire herd. 

Alfred, at a certain point, turned the sorrel full in 
upon the great black brute, and drove him full head into 
the herd, where he was soon completely surrounded, and 
thus effectually cut out from doing any further harm. 

Slowly the great herd moved; quietly the men rode 
around; finally the cattle stopped, thoroughly beaten and 
willing to rest. 

At last the rounding up was well on to completion. It 
was late September. Alfred was beginning preparations 
for his returning trip to the East, when he received a com- 
munication from Mr. VanDyke directing him to proceed 
at once across the continent to San Francisco, to dispatch 
some business for the company there. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 181 

The morning of his departure he rode the sorrel once 
more, accompanied by Mr. Richards and Jimmie Doran, to 
the station at Ball’s Forks; his luggage having been sent 
on before with some of the other boys who wished to see 
him off. 

As the train drew out from the little station, he lingered 
upon the platform, and the memory of that handsome, 
glowing face, those wonderful golden-gray eyes, and 
luminous smile, left an impression upon those strong men 
of the plains that never quite faded away. 

The long journey was over. Back with the dearly 
loved mother and sister, he soon began to adjust himself 
to the old life. The trip across the continent had been to 
him a great education. Never had he realized the vast 
grandeur of his country before. Loving her passionately, 
having traversed it from the east to the west and back 
again, realizing that the great belt of civilization extended 
completely around the globe, that there was no “ wild and 
wooley west,” just one grand pathway of elevation, educa- 
tion, and enlightenment, and that this, his loved country, 
was the magnificent link that made the grand circle com- 
plete, caused him to thrill with a new and deeper love and 
patriotism. Therefore, it was with a new and deeper feel- 
ing of the responsibility that rested upon him as an Ameri- 
can citizen, that he paused, as it were, to catch his second 
wind before starting anew upon the battle of life. 


My Land. My Country . My Home. 


182 


CHAPTER X 

Steadily plowing their way through the blue Atlantic, 
the two great ironclads pursued their sturdy course. 

Nothing of importance occurred upon the voyage, ex- 
cept that upon one a suite of rooms was being rapidly fitted 
up, and before the great vessel had reached the Banks, the 
rumor had spread through the entire company as to the 
errand upon which she was bent. 

All were keenly excited, although strict orders had 
been issued forbidding any discussion upon their mission. 

Upon swinging south from the Banks the two sister 
ships proceeded in a more southerly course than that taken 
by the regular liners, so that they ran outside the beaten 
path. 

In a few days they steamed into the harbor of one of 
our middle southern cities and came to anchor. 

Conjectures ran high as to what the errand of these 
two formidable ships might be that floated the ensign of a 
great foreign nation. 

The Harbor Master swung alongside shortly after 
they had come to anchor, and was taken aboard, and upon 
being assured of the friendliness of their visit had departed, 
after granting the freedom of the harbor to the officers. 

Shortly after the Harbor Master had departed, a 
launch put out from one of the vessels, carrying John of 
Ainhault and Col. Miron, who proceeded at once to 
Washington. 

Arriving there they called upon their ambassador and 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 183 

were closeted with him for some time; after explaining to 
him the nature of their errand, they desired him to arrange 
an interview for them with the President. 

A few days later, all arrangements having been made, 
John of Ainhault received an invitation to dine with the 
President and his wife, privately, the ambassador having 
explained enough of his errand to secure such an informal 
meeting. 

Traveling through the streets of Washington, viewing 
its magnificent buildings and noble avenues, had proven a 
veritable revelation to the young Archduke. Born and 
reared in one of the oldest and most exclusive courts in all 
Europe, hedged about with every Old World custom and 
spirit, he had come to believe the common impression of the 
New World. Had come to believe that it was little better 
than an overgrown upstart. But upon coming face to face 
with that much maligned and misrepresented country, had 
taught him as much, or more in twenty-four hours, than 
he could have learned otherwise in as many years. 

Coming in such close contact with the President and 
his beautiful but fragile wife, he was astonished at the 
extreme high degree of refinement and education, and the 
wonderful religious spirit that permeated the man’s whole 
being. Indeed, he was obliged to acknowledge that, never 
in all his life had he ever been in the presence of such true 
and gentle dignity as that which clothed this man as with a 
mantle. 

The President and his good lady listened attentively 
to his tale, expressing their sincere sympathy, and desiring 
him to say in what way they could best assist him in his 
search. 


184 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

His reply was, that all he could ask, in fact the only 
request he had to make, was, that he be allowed to prosecute 
his search unhindered, and to that end had come to His 
Excellency to make such a request. Whereupon he was 
assured by the President that his request was granted even 
before it was made, urging that he, the President, would 
esteem it a privilege to be allowed to assist in whatever 
way he could. 

The meal ended, the short visit was brought to a close, 
and as John of Ainhault left the executive mansion it was 
with the feeling that never had he spent a more delightful 
evening. 

And now the real search began. From Washington 
they proceeded to Westport, the home of John and Mar- 
garet Raymond. The Archduke Walther experienced but 
little trouble in locating the house, but as Margaret had 
gone from that place more than twenty-five years before, 
he could learn but little of her. At last, through much ques- 
tioning, they learned that she had gone about that time to 
Bentberg, after marrying a man by the name of John Ray- 
mond, who was now living nearby, so to him they went and 
from him they learned much about her life and the life of 
the boy. 

At the suggestion of Col. Miron, they went to Bent- 
berg and there, finding Jim and Mary Beaton, secured a 
few more links in the chain. From Mary Beaton they drew 
the story of the night when Alfred and his mother, with 
the two little ones, disappeared ; at the same time listening 
to her conjectures of the affair so far as she supposed 
Jerry Bond was concerned. 

Like a hound on the scent, Col. Miron brought all his 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 185 

faculties into play; the next move was to locate Jerry Bond, 
which he finally succeeded in doing, and by careful question- 
ing, got the remainder of the story up to the time he had 
put them on the train for New York at Bart-Haven. There 
the trail seemed to end. All trace of them was lost, nor 
could they again find it. 


i86 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


CHAPTER XI 

Maestro Burgmuller strode angrily along the street, 
cursing the eccentricities of people in general and of great 
singers in particular. 

The reason for his present perturbation was that he had 
just come from a stormy interview with Mdlle. Corina 
DelMere, who had flatly refused to go on the boards again 
with Schelmendauer, the great tenor. 

Burgmuller had to acknowledge that Schelmendauer 
was drunk, which had caused all the trouble, but then that 
had not interfered with his singing; of course the dear 
public had noticed that he had not acted as well, and the 
press had put it down to a sudden indisposition. But Del- 
Mere would listen to no excuse or palliation ; her decree 
was final. And the bill that night was “ Faust ; ” and 
DelMere had the exclusive right to appear in that opera; 
but where, where was he to find a Faust? 

Did she think they could be picked up at any street 
corner? 

Of course DelMere could dictate; was she not the 
idol of the public, and would not the public uphold her ? 

What was he to do? Faust was on for that night and 
here it was eleven o’clock in the morning, and no Faust in 
sight. 

He would call up the theatre and cancel the engage- 
ment; that’s what he would do. 

" Hello, Central ! give me 1659 ! Yes, 1659 ! Hello ! 
Hello! Is this 1-6-5-9? It is? The Grand Opera House? 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


187 


Hu? Well, this is Burgmuller. What? You knew it? 
well, why didn’t you say so at first and not keep me waiting 
here all this time? Say! Listen! How’s the sale of 
tickets for to-night ? Ha ! What ? Every seat sold ? Only 
standing room left? 

Slam went the receiver on the hook as Mr. Burgmuller 
rushed out into the street almost tearing his hair as he 
went. 

“ that piano anyway, ’f I had my 

way I’d pitch every p-i-a-n-o ” 

Burgmuller turned and grasped the fence that enclosed 
a yard near by and stared at the small, modest house before 
him with an almost idiotic stare. 

“ Then shall the Righteous shine,” 

A voice of incredible beauty floated out over the quiet 
of this little street. 

On it went, through the great solo, a voice of more 
than mortal power and sweetness. 

Great drops of perspiration stood out all over the face 
of the great Maestro. 

As the last note died away he tore open the gate and, 
rushing up the walk to the door, rang the bell furiously. 

In a moment a hurried step was heard within and the 
door was quickly opened. 

Burgmuller started forward, the words tumbling up- 
ward in one confused jumble, then catching sight of the 
handsome face, and grand gray eyes of Alfred Raymond 
bent wonderingly upon him, the power of speech failed him 
entirely. 

He could only stand and stare. 


188 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Where had he seen that face before? 

“ Did you wish to see anyone? ” 

His mind began to adjust itself gradually. 

What had he come for ? Oh, yes ; now he remembered. 
He had heard someone singing. A drowning man will 
catch at a straw, and he was only human. 

Alfred waited. 

“ I heard you singing? ” 

It was a question in every word. 

“ Yes,” was the calm reply/ “ Will you not come in? ” 

He found himself ushered into a dainty music room. 

He still felt dazed; the strain had been very great. 

“ Let me bring you a glass of water.” 

He felt better. He was trying to arrange his thoughts. 

“ I heard you. I want some one to sing Faust to- 
night. Will you do it ? ” 

Even while he asked it he knew that it was the most 
absurd thing that could be imagined; but the man was in 
desperate straits. 

“ Why, I am not sure that I can.” 

“ Do you not know the music? ” 

“ Yes,” said Alfred slowly, “ but you surprise me very 
much. I had not thought of such a thing, at least, not yet.” 

Then Burgmuller broke loose, all the story came out 
and in the end Alfred, won over, all arrangements were 
completed. Burgmuller left the house feeling as though a 
miracle had been performed. Indeed he shook himself 
several times to assure himself that it had not all been a 
hideous nightmare which had ended in a very satisfying 
and comfortable dream. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 189 

The great auditorium of the grand opera house was 
filling rapidly, the half-subdued light showed one of the 
most brilliant gatherings of the season. Trimly dressed 
ushers were moving quickly up and down the aisles; the 
click of the falling seats and the rustle of silken garments 
gave out a peculiarly pleasant and comfortable sound. 

It was a gala night. Two of the world’s greatest 
singers were going to appear together in Gounod’s beauti- 
ful opera of Faust. The occupants of the boxes were be- 
ginning to arrive, and already considerable calling was 
being done; and for a short time the scene began to take 
on almost a social appearance. 

Those on the floor of the house were so busy watching 
the new arrivals that no one had thought of looking at 
a programme. 

Outside a long line of people were waiting for the 
opportunity of getting even standing room. Expectations 
were running high. Someone scanned a programme. Yes, 
there was DelMere’s name; but what was this? Where 
was Schelmendauer? Surely he had been promised for 
to-night. 

Perhaps there was another part; sometimes the pro- 
gramme was divided. 

No, his name did not appear. There was DelMere as 
Marguerite, and down here at the end was, Faust, Alfred 
Raymond. 

What was this? Burgmuller had promised DelMere 
and Schelmendauer. The papers had been full of it for a 
week, and now, at the last minute, a name was substituted 
that they had not even heard. 


190 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Was Burgmuller descending to the common tricks of 
trade? If so, he would feel the weight of their displeasure. 

Already expressions of dissatisfaction were being 
heard from different parts of the house. Two or three 
went to the box office and demanded the return of their 
money. Others threatened. Just then Mrs. Peter VanDyke 
entered her box with her husband. Attention was diverted. 
Was she not the great social leader? And the heaviest 
subscriber for the season? They would wait and see how 
she accepted the change. 

Was she not a social arbiter? though quiet, and un- 
ostentatious, yet, there were few there who did not know 
that she was the real “ power behind the throne.” 

So they would be governed by her movements in the 
matter. 

All unconscious that she was being covertly watched, 
she took her seat and slowly scanned the house, bowing to 
some two or three acquaintances near. 

“Have you seen your programme, Myra?” said Mr. 
VanDyke, who had been watching the audience while the 
audience had been watching her. 

“ No,” was the reply. “ Why do you ask? ” 

“ There has been a change made in the programme, 
and the people are looking to see whether or not you 
approve.” 

“A change!” said she. “Not DelMere?” 

“No; Schelmendauer.” 

“ Schelmendauer ! ” 

“Yes; it seems that he was so disgustingly drunk the 
last time he appeared with DelMere, that she has positively 
refused to go on with him again.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 19 1 

“ Quite right,” said she. “ DelMere is, I consider, a 
woman of fine principles; and I heartily approve every 
such decision ; but who, pray tell, has been substituted ? ” 

“ Would you not better read your programme? The 
people are watching closely ; evidently they resent the change 
and are looking to you to decide for them.” 

‘‘No, I will not look now, but you may tell me, if you 
will.” 

“ Do not be surprised, for it is someone of whom you 
are as ignorant as myself. At least in a musical way.” 

She looked up earnestly and inquiringly into her hus- 
band’s face, while he was smiling down at her as if they 
were pursuing only an ordinarily pleasant conversation. 

Many were observing them closely. Evidently things 
were not as bad as they had thought ; they would still wait 
a little. 

“ It is Alfred Raymond,” said Mr. VanDyke. 

“ Alfred Raymond,” said she almost vaguely. 

“ Yes,” said he. “ Do you not remember the man from 
my office whom we sent out to Arizona to Henry’s ? ” 

Mrs. VanDyke saw again a little crouching form, a 
white, drawn face, and a man’s strong arm crushing the 
child in close, warm embrace, and her eyes grew misty 
with tenderness. 

“ Alfred Raymond,” said she musingly. “ Why, did 
you know that he could sing?” 

“ Never dreamed of such a thing. Well, he’s in a 
mighty ticklish place now. What are you going to do about 
it?” 

“ What I am going to do about it ! ” said she. “ Why 
do you say that ; what have I to do with it ? ” 


192 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

“ Why, can’t you see the position that he is in ? That 
you are in? Schelmendauer is one of the greatest tenors 
in the world to-day, considered by some to be the greatest 
The people have come to hear him with DelMere ; but in- 
stead of finding his name on the programme, they find the 
name of Alfred Raymond; a name. I’ll wager, they have 
never even heard; naturally they are more or less indig- 
nant, and are watching for the first excuse, no matter how 
slight, to show their resentment. Now it is well known 
that it is largely due to you that they are enjoying the 
present season of opera. If you remain passive, they will 
infer that you were aware of the change, and approve of it. 
If, on the contrary, you should decide not to countenance 
any such a change, and should send for Burgmuller, and 
demand an explanation, or leave the house, it would not be 
five minutes before the box office would be besieged, and 
the house emptied.” 

“If the man can sing, all might be well; but, if on the 
other hand, he should fail, it would, to say the least, look 
strange.” 

Mrs. Peter VanDyke looked out over the sea of eager, 
upturned faces without seeing them. What she did see was 
the face of a child wet with the tears of a man, and, looking 
up into the face of her husband, she said in a low voice, so 
low that he had to bend down to hear, “ I will stay.” 

Just at that moment a large party entered one of the 
boxes not far away, and at the same time the men of the 
orchestra began to take their places and, between the two 
diversions, the audience forgot all else; when they did re- 
member they determined to show that they did not approve 
of the change ; the new singer should receive a cool recep- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 193 

tion from them ; they would show Burgmuller that he must 
not think that they could be cajoled into an easy acqui- 
escence. 

The overture was ending; the curtain was rising upon 
the last note as a strong, pure tone floated out over the 
waiting throng. 

Faust was in his laboratory, regretting his age and 
past life. But what was the matter? The great orchestra 
was playing with so much power as to almost drown the 
singer’s voice. Surely that was a strange proceeding, the 
people looked to each other with questioning glances. 
Faust was singing, but the great orchestra was playing the 
part; he was acting, and every gesture was perfect, the 
picture was complete. 

Mrs. VanDyke looked at her husband and said, “ What 
does it mean? They are playing the man’s part for him. 
Why do they do that ? ” 

To which he replied, “Why, don’t you understand? 
There evidently has been no rehearsal and the conductor 
has been instructed to carry him through at all hazards; 
for my part I would prefer that they give the man at least 
a fighting chance, for I half believe he’d get away with it.” 

“ Don’t talk slang, said she. “ At least, not here.” 

" Just a business remark,” said he, smiling. 

“ Can nothing be done about it ? ” said she. 

“ Better let well enough alone,” remarked he, 
shrewdly. 

The transformation had taken place, but a second re- 
markable circumstance was apparent. Evidently something 
was wrong with the lights, for wherever Faust moved, he 
remained in a shadow sufficiently dim, that from their box 


194 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

and the greater part of the house his features could not be 
clearly seen. 

In the jewel song, DelMere surpassed herself ; never 
had she sung so well; the great audience went wild, and 
called her back again and again. In the King of Thule 
she had made them cry, but they forgave her that. Schel- 
mendauer was forgotten. Raymond they ignored; evi- 
dently he was only filling in; but DelMere, DelMere more 
than satisfied, and they recalled and recalled, and seemed 
they would not be satisfied. 

In her dressing room, before the garden scene, Del- 
Mere sent for Burgmuller; he began to shower her with 
praise. Had she not helped to save the day? But she cut 
him short. “What did Mademoiselle want, was he not 
allowing everything in her behalf? What more could he 
do ? What more could she ask ? ” 

She “ wanted to know why the orchestra was treating 
Alfred Raymond in that brutal manner? What did they 
mean by storming everything he did as if they were nothing 
better than a common brass band.” 

At that Burgmuller winced, for he prided himself upon 
his orchestra, and nothing hurt him so much as to be com- 
pared to anything of that kind. 

Surely Mademoiselle knew that* Raymond was only an 
amateur and there was no telling when he might fail. He 
was only 

“ Fiddlesticks ! ” said she. “ Alfred Raymond was only 
an amateur, she would admit, but she had trained him her- 
self, and she would vouch for anything he would do.” 

“Mademoiselle had trained him?” 

“ Yes, Mademoiselle had trained him,” said she mimic- 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 195 

ing his astonishment ; “ and now I want you to play for 
him just as you play for me. I’ll not stand for any more 
of this nonsense. At least give the man a show.” 

“ Very well ; it should be as Mademoiselle said, but 
Mademoiselle must remember that the dear public would 
blame him and not her if anything went wrong.” 

She cut him short by telling him that she had to 
“ dress for the next scene,” that is, if he would “ allow her 
the use of her dressing room by removing himself from it.” 

Faust was standing in the garden before the house of 
Marguarite. 

The great orchestra, subdued now to an ineffable 
tenderness, was giving out the prelude to the great solo, 
“ Oh, Dwelling Pure and Holy.” 

The vast audience, thrilled by the exquisite strains, and 
roused by the striking change, were waiting with an almost 
fearful expectancy. 

Surely this was a night of surprises; first the loud, 
overwhelming work of the orchestra, now the very extreme. 
Never had they played with such exquisite delicacy. What 
did it portend? This extreme change would demand more 
than mortal powers to sustain. 

Up in the VanDyke box Mr. VanDyke was leaning 
forward with an anxiety he could not quite conceal. 

Mrs. VanDyke held her fan before her face as if to 
shut out the glare of the light from the stage. 

Alfred Raymond stood yet in a dim shadow. 

He heard the beautiful melody and its accompanying 
harmonies coming nearer and nearer. He had forgotten 
the great theatre, the vast throng, the orchestra. He saw 


196 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the little house of his childhood’s home. He had forgotten 
all of his sorrows. He saw only his mother in the doorway. 

The music was coming nearer and nearer, then, out, 
over that silent, expectant, waiting crowd there floated a 
voice so marvellously beautiful that the blood in their veins 
seemed turned to water. 

They were soundless, motionless, almost, it seemed, 
lifeless. Alfred Raymond was singing now and the great 
orchestra were following, entirely subdued, completely 
mastered. 

He scarcely heard them; he had entirely forgotten 
them. He was thinking only of his mother; out there, 
somewhere in the gloom, she was sitting with his beautiful 
sister, and he was singing to her, for her. 

The climax was coming. The test that had broken 
many a man. Many began to grow apprehensive. What 
if he should not be able to stand that test? Now they began 
to fear that he might fail. Now they were hoping, praying 
almost, that he would not. 

Just at that moment that glorious voice paused; then, 
like an eagle in its flight, it soared up that magnificent run 
to the high C, and out over the great orchestra it rang like 
a golden trumpet, vibrant, jubilant, triumphant. 

Just at that moment the shadow that had obscured him 
suddenly broke, and the light burst out in full radiance; 
the effect was startling. The wonderful beauty of the 
man was now for the first time fully shown. His grand, 
golden-gray eyes flashing like great jewels, while the vast 
multitude sat as if stunned by the glorious beauty of his 
voice. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 197 

Suddenly there broke out over that wonderful silence 
a sharp exclamation. 

Mr. VanDyke turned to look, and saw that from the 
box near his, which was occupied by the party of strangers, 
one man was leaning far out with outstretched hands, point- 
ing to the singer; he heard a sharp exclamation, and then 
the words, “ There he is now ! ” 

In the gloom of the great auditorium the audience 
were only able to catch a faint blurred outline of the action, 
but they heard the ejaculation; some misunderstood; in- 
stantly there was confusion. A sharp voice rang out, “ Put 
him out!” There were other ejaculations, hisses, cries of 
“ Shame ! shame ! Put him out ! Throw him out ! ” The 
confusion grew. 

Upon the brilliantly lighted stage Alfred stood as if 
turned to stone. His handsome, glowing face became 
ghastly white; his eyes took on a dazed look of horror. 
What had happened? What had he done wrong? Had 
he failed after all? Slowly the curtain descended. 

He stood dazed, stupefied, rooted to the spot. The 
noise outside was growing louder. 

Suddenly, out over the almost hysterical throng rang 
a woman’s voice. Mrs. VanDyke had suddenly wakened to 
the full meaning of the critical situation. “ Encore ! En- 
core!” she cried. Another joined, then a third, a man’s 
voice answered; then, down, like a peal of thunder rolled 
a tremendous round of applause. Cries of “ Raymond ! 
Raymond ! ” Encore ! Encore ! ” 

Alfred had not moved. Corina DelMere rushed up to 
him and shook him. “ Come,” said she, “ come, do you 
not hear? They want you.” 


198 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Grasping his hand, she dragged him to the front of 
the platform. With her own hands she flung the great 
curtain back and drew him out before the footlights. The 
applause was deafening. Men shouted themselves hoarse. 
Women stood upon their seats and waved to him. In the 
midst of the excitement some one flung a great bouquet of 
beautiful roses ; he caught them against his chest, held them 
for a moment, and then, with a smile and bow, with all the 
simple grace of a child, he laid them in the arms of Corina 
DelMere. The tumult was deafening. 

Alfred Raymond had come into his own. 

At last they let him go and the great music drama went 
on. In the prison scene he was incomparable ; DelMere out- 
did herself. 

In the duet, where the melody changes to a higher 
range, each time the two voices were in the most perfect 
accord; the effect was indescribable. 

It was impossible to go on, and the great work ended 
there, and the two were given an ovation, the equal to 
which has never been witnessed. 

After the confusion had abated, Burgmuller came to 
him and asked to be allowed to present a party who wished 
to meet him. Thoroughly wearied, Alfred begged to be 
excused, saying that he would see them at his home in the 
morning. 

Finding his mother and sister, he made his way from 
the theatre. 

Upon reaching his home, he said, as he kissed his 
mother good-night, “ Mother, it was all for you, and all I 
am you have made me.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


199 


CHAPTER XII 

In the cool of the early morning a horse and its rider 
were standing upon the bridle path, far up in the interior 
of Central Park, near an intersecting footpath, and so 
closely were they drawn up to the thick foliage, that one 
passing hurriedly along the footpath would scarcely notice 
them. 

The horse, a beautiful brown, stood absolutely motion- 
less and some in the shadow so that a second look was 
necessary to make it well out. 

Now the eyes catch the glitter of trappings, and look- 
ing closer, one discovers that its harness bears the stamp of 
the mounted police. For the first time the eye rests upon 
the rider, and, looking closer, — was it, could it be? Yes, 
it was our old friend, Danny O’Gorman. 

Immaculate as usual, from the tip of his natty cap 
to the toe of his polished boot. His closefitting brown 
suit showed off his fine figure to the best advantage; the 
silver trimmings were polished to the finest point of per- 
fection. The loose-fitting trousers ended in neatly-fitting 
leather leggings that were absolutely spotless. His badge 
of rank blazed with an almost menacing light. 

One trimly gauntleted hand held the soft rein firmly, 
while with the other he straightened out a few refractory 
locks of the black mane. Above all, his fine Irish face and 
blue eyes looked out upon the world with a very complais- 
ant look. 


200 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Altogether Officer Danny and his handsome bay pre- 
sented a picture good to look upon. 

For some time they remained standing in the seclusion 
almost motionless. 

Once or twice he bent down and peered out across the 
meadow through the foliage as if expecting someone. 

The intersecting footpath could be seen stretching 
away to the left for some distance, but from the right it 
approached with a sharp turn and incline, so that one com- 
ing from that direction would come upon the horseman 
suddenly, nor have any means of evasion. 

Now, through the quiet of the early morning, with the 
noise of the great city sounding but dimly in the distance, 
he could hear someone approaching from the right, running 
rapidly. 

He turned to listen. 

The sound of running feet was becoming more distinct. 

What could this be? He had heard a few rumors of 
marauders ; was this someone of that band ? Perhaps some 
act of vandalism had been disturbed, and the members had 
scattered ; well, let them come on, he was ready. 

Perhaps it was something more serious. His mouth 
set in a rigid line as he grasped the reins of his horse more 
firmly and drew them up. 

The flying feet were very near. 

Now he caught a glimpse of a lithe, muscular body, 
bent forward and running like an Indian, rushing up the 
incline with an almost incredible speed. 

The head bent forward and bared was covered with a 
mass of waving, golden-brown hair, but the face was 
obscured. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 201 

As the runner dashed around the turn and started to 
cross the bridle path, the bay shot forward like an arrow 
and blocked the passage. 

“ Halt ! ” rang out sharp and clear. 

The runner flung himself backward with all his strength 
and barely avoided crashing into the horse with full force ; 
indeed, had he not flung out his hands he would have done 
so. 

The horse gave a start and swerved a little as the out- 
stretched hands came against his smooth, satiny coat. 

“ What the ” began Officer Danny, then, “ Boy 

Star ! Boy Star ! ” 

“ Officer Danny ! ” 

Officer Danny was standing on the ground. How he 
got off his horse he did not know. For a moment it looked 
as if he was tumbling, only there was no part of him that 
was coming first. He was just naturally there all at once. 

The recognition was mutual. 

For a moment the Irish blue eyes of the Officer looked 
into the eyes of his dearly-loved Boy Star, then he reached 
out and crushed him to him in a fierce, passionate embrace. 
" Boy Star, Boy Star,” he crooned, all the fierce affection of 
his race surging up over him, “An’ where have ye been 
all the while ; och, boy ! How I've missed ye ! ” 

Then he gave him a passionate shake as he pushed 
him off to arms' length, and looked long and earnestly into 
the face he had longed so for, through the passing years. 

“ Office Danny, my friend, my friend.” And Alfred 
Raymond's handsome face and eyes grew pathetic with the 
look of a child as he went on to explain his long silence 
after his sudden disappearance. 


202 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Officer Danny looked into that glowing face, then 
stepped back, and involuntarily he saluted again with that 
strange salute. 

He could not understand the strange feeling that 
possessed him, and when he remembered the fierce, passion- 
ate embrace he shivered, and his face grew slightly pale. 

Now he had remounted his horse. Alfred had re- 
minded him that the duties of his position required that he 
remain in the saddle while discharging them, and at the 
suggestion, he could not repress the feeling that he had 
been spoken to by a superior officer nor could he shake this 
off. 

What a meeting that was; eager questions and an- 
swers; they had so much to say, so many recollections of 
the old days; and did Boy Star remember the first day 
that he met him? “ Shure, all the heart of him had been 
as water then, and the days that had followed and the love 
he bore for his Boy Star; shure, it was passing the love 

for woman .” And then he stopped, and a flush came 

upon his handsome face as he remembered why he had 
been waiting so long at that place that morning. 

His cheek burned as he felt the little note that lay 
hidden in an inner pocket. 

A beautiful woman, a neglected wife; humiliated. 

He often saw her riding in the park. A trivial acci- 
dent, it had broken the ice. A word of sympathy. The 
world knew her wrongs. 

The little note asked for the meeting; he knew he was 
doing wrong, but then she was a beautiful woman and 
rich, and he was flattered. He had refused to listen to cold 
reason, even when the little dovelike, brown-eyed wife had 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 203 

come and whispered in his ear, “ I’m afraid, Danny, oh, 
I’m afraid.” A crisis, the trial of her love and life were 
coming. He had put it all away from him. And now, 
somehow, this boy-man made him feel so uncomfortable. 
He tried to change his thoughts. To get away from them. 
“ Shure, had his Boy Star read the papers ? ” 

" Read the papers? Why? ” said Alfred. 

“ Faith, then he hadn’t or he would have seen it. 
There shure was one happy man in the great city that morn- 
ing, for everyone was talking of him, and all the papers were 
praising him. My! My! But it must be an illigant thing 
to be such a grand singer. And hadn’t the people almost 
smothered him with flowers, and hadn’t the ladies, bless 
their swate hearts, fairly delooged him with their jools?” 

“ Officer Danny, what are you talking about,” said 
Alfred at length, when he could interrupt the avalanche of 
words. 

“ What was he talkin’ about ? Why, about the opery, 
and that man Alfred Raymond, shure! And hadn’t the 
papers been full of the talk of him, and sayin’ that he had 
sung loike an angel? Shure, an’ wuldn’t he loike to hear 
him?” 

Alfred was standing close to the horse, his right arm 
up around the arched neck, with the glossy coat pressed 
close against his richly glowing cheek. Upon hearing his 
own name, the truth dawned upon him like a flash that 
Officer Danny had never heard his name, consequently he 
had not associated his Boy Star with the much-talked-of 
Alfred Raymond. 

Upon hearing the wish expressed by the officer, he 


204 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

looked up with a merry twinkle in his eye, which again 
showed that little glint of green. 

“ So you would like to hear Alfred Raymond sing,” 
said he. 

“ I shure would,” was the earnest reply. 

Meanwhile the two men had been so intent upon their 
own meeting that they had not noticed a horse and rider 
approaching from across the great meadow. The softly- 
yielding turf had deadened the foot-falls of the horse, and 
now horse and rider were standing motionless not far away, 
hidden by the thickly leaved copse, yet in easy hearing 
distance. 

The fair rider had recognized the voice of the officer, 
but the other was a stranger to her, and so had deemed it 
wise to remain unseen. 

When the conversation had turned upon the previous 
night and the opera, she had become more than interested, 
for she had been present, and, in fact, it was she who, 
carried away by the power of that glorious voice and the 
personal beauty of the man, had flung the roses at him. 

Alfred was looking up into the face of the friend of 
his boyhood days with a smile of rare tenderness, and 
Officer Danny closed his eyes, almost overpowered by the 
pure love that shone out from that look. 

The smile deepened, the eyelids dropped, half veiling 
those wonderful eyes that seemed fairly to dazzle him. 

The beautifully rounded chin was half raised, the full 
lips parted, showing the edges of his snow-white teeth; 
and then out over the soft, exquisite air of the morning 
there floated a voice of such liquid tenderness, that the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 205 

listener upon the other side of the little leafy wood caught 
her breath with a fierce sob. 

Officer Danny’s eyes opened wide with astonishment 
at that sound and he could only stare, almost stupidly, at 
the handsome, animated face before him; then everything 
faded from about him. He saw the mighty Jeptha return- 
ing from battle, victorious, repeating, in the exuberance of 
his joy, the vow he had vowed, that “If the Lord would 
make him victorious,” he “ would sacrifice the first thing he 
saw when he returned, coming from his house.” 

He saw the horror upon the victorious leader’s face, 
the agony, the despair; for, standing before him in all her 
soft womanly beauty was his own daughter. 

He saw all the struggle, heard all the impassioned plea 
wherewith he tried to find some avenue of escape; but 
there was none. 

The wonderful voice ceased; there was a moment’s 
pause. The woman beyond the hedge was weeping softly, 
her heart broken. 

Then the scene changed. Officer Danny was standing 
in a dim religious light ; he saw a bier, and resting upon it 
a beautiful, marble-like figure, clad in mystic, snow-white 
shrouds. Kneeling close beside was the broken-hearted 
father. Through the dim silence stole this prayer, 

“ Waft Her, Angels, through the Skies.” 

The great leader had conquered, even in death. 

As the last note of that superb voice died away, there 
remained a deathly silence. A moment, then the officer 
came back to life, so to speak. ’Twas a little Irish song 
now and Alfred Raymond was looking up at him with all 


206 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


the sweet, loyal tenderness of a child, as the notes rippled 
out like purest gold. 

“ Oh, she is not like the rose, 

That proud in beauty grows, 

And boasteth that she’s so wondrous fair. 

But she’s like the violet blue. 

Ever modest, ever true, 

And wasteth her sweetness on the still night air. 

Oh, she’s gentle, loving, mild. 

She’s as artless as a child, 

With her golden tresses floating down; 

Oh, I love thee, only thee, 

My Colleen Gal, Machree, 

My true love, my snowy-breasted pearl.” 

Officer Danny saw the little brown-haired wife, and 
heard again the whispered words, “ Oh, Danny, I'm afraid! 
Oh, Fm afraid ! ” But the voice was going on. 

“ Such was she, but, oh, a change. 

So wondrous and so strange, 

. . . o’er my true love came. 

Paler still her pale cheek grew, 

And her eyes of azure hue, 

Seemed lighted with a fatal wasting flame.” 


An icy hand clutched his heart and chilled him through 
all his being. 

“I’m alone, alone, alone, 

So wearily I moan, 

For my lost love, my snowy-breasted pearl.” 

The woman reined her horse away across the soft, 
yielding turf, weeping bitterly. The fair citadel of her 
womanhood had been besieged. An angelic voice had come 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 207 

and, like a messenger from the celestial regions, had shown 
her the black abyss at her feet; God sent her sons and 
daughters; and in her darkest hour, her salvation was 
wrought. 

“ Boy Star ! Boy Star ! ” exclaimed Officed Danny, 
“ you are ” 

“Alfred Raymond/’ Was the reply. 

Just then a clock chimed the half hour. 

“What was that?” said Alfred, “half-past nine?” 

The other nodded. 

“ I have an engagement at ten,” he continued, “ I was 
taking a run just for exercise. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, 
I’ll race you. I’ll go across the meadow, you keep to the 
bridle path and see who reaches the gate first.” 

“ Done,” said the other. 

Like an arrow shot from a bow, that exquisite body 
sped away, while the splendid horse tore at full speed down 
the bridle path. 

A few minutes later they met at the gate, the race de- 
clared a draw. 

From the platform of the car Alfred looked back. 
Officer Danny saluted. The salute was returned. The car 
sped away. 

At a few minutes after ten, his sister, who was watch- 
ing for him, let him in at the door, telling him as she did so, 
that a party of gentlemen were waiting for him in the parlor. 

In his old, boyish fashion, he put his arm around her, 
and moved forward to the stair. She left him there, say- 
ing that she must go to the rear of the house upon some 
errand for her mother. 

Margaret Raymond, or Madge, as Alfred sometimes 


208 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

called her, had grown into a very beautiful girl ; a trifle 
taller than her mother, who was of medium height. 

Her face, oval in shape, was of exquisite fairness; 
her eyes, large and of a deep velvety blue ; her hair, a pure 
pale yellow, was like spun silk, and when let down, fell 
far below the knee, now plainly parted and woven in two 
braids, was wound around her finely shaped head like a 
coronal. 

In character she seemed possessed of all the nobler 
qualities of her forbears, with none of the shortcomings 
of her father, which the splendid character and example 
of her mother had developed to the fullest. 

Though finely educated by the best teachers and 
schools, she still remained very like the mother she so much 
resembled; simple and unaffected. In fact the quiet stead- 
fastness and reliability of her Quaker parentage were 
strongly developed. 

As she passed on, Alfred went up the stairs, two steps 
at a time, and a few minutes later his mother heard him 
whistling and splashing in his bath like a schoolboy, and 
smiled as she mused upon that grand young life with all of 
its promises and possibilities. 

A short while after she heard his light, elastic step as 
he descended the stair, and soon he passed out of hearing. 

Alfred Raymond, as he stepped into the doorway of 
the parlor in his home that morning, presented a picture of 
manly beauty, seldom if ever equalled, certainly never 
surpassed, as he stood between the dark hangings, which 
threw out the fair picture he presented with most startling 
distinctness. 

In height he was a little under six foot tall, with a fine 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 209 

breadth of shoulders, and full chest ; the form tapering 
away in splendid lines to a pair of perfectly shaped, 
slender feet, gave a considerable impression of slenderness 
to the whole body, which, being now fully developed by his 
recent experience in the West, was as near absolute perfec- 
tion as it were possible to be. 

The splendid, proudly poised head was fitly crowned 
with a mass of wavy, gold-brown hair ; the skin of the face, 
without spot or blemish, was tinted a soft golden glow of 
the tan he had brought back from the plains, through which 
the rich, red blood shone with rare coloring; while the 
grand, golden-gray eyes flashed and glowed like great 
jeweled orbs. 

Clad in a neat, well-fitting suit of light, soft gray, his 
linen immaculately white, with a soft white tie, he came 
upon the waiting party with startling effect. 

As he stepped into the room he met a goodly party of 
men; every one of whom had risen to his feet and now 
stood in an almost respectful attitude. 

There was a sharp exclamation, and he saw that the 
entire party were watching him with a sharp piercing look. 

He looked past them and saw Burgmuller standing 
alone, a little in the rear, and at one side. 

“ Ah, good morning, Herr. Burgmuller,” said he, as 
he started forward with outstretched hand to greet him. 
“I must apologize for having kept you waiting,” then he 
stopped, a look of wonder upon his face. Burgmuller was 
standing before him, bowing most deeply and respectfully, 
but not once offering to touch the outstretched hand. 

Alfred turned his gaze wonderingly, questioningly 
upon the rest of the party. 


210 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


" These gentlemen, Burgmuller, they are friends of 
yours ; you will present me.” 

There seemed to be a strangeness about Burgmuller 
that did not well accord with the former visit of the great 
maestro. 

“ Yes, your — ” 

“ Burgmuller ! ” a voice spoke up sharply. 

Alfred looked toward the speaker; Burgmuller seemed 
covered with confusion, as he turned and seemed about to 
reply, but catching a look from the speaker he remained 
silent. 

“ You may present us, Burgmuller.” 

“Yes, your — ” Burgmuller stopped in the same con- 
he hesitated, “ this is Mr. John Ahrnut.” He stumbled 
hesitatingly over the name. 

fusion, then he continued, “ This, your — , this, sir, is — ,” 

Alfred turned toward the man indicated with hand 
held out. Again he was met with that same deferential 
bow. Still his hand remained untouched. 

He was now aware of some strongly suppressed under- 
current and wondered whither it all tended. 

When Burgmuller presented the next man he made no 
motion except a slight inclination of the head, and so on 
through the entire party. 

As the last man stepped forward, Alfred found himself 
looking into a hard grizzled face from out of which shone 
a pair of piercing dark eyes. 

For a moment the dark eyes of the older military 
looking man, who answered to the name of Col. Miron, 
looked unfalteringly into his own, then the lids were 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


211 


lowered, and the same courtly deferential bow, which was 
almost an obeisance. 

That all were under some restraint he was keenly 
aware, and it was with growing wonder that he bade the 
party to be seated. 

For a moment there was an awkward pause, then the 
man who was called John Ahrnut said, with evident em- 
barrassment, “ After you, sir.” 

Now Alfred had been trained along some very strict 
lines, and among them was the rule that he should not be 
seated in his own house until every stranger present had 
been made comfortable; also that every person, though a 
stranger, within his doors was his guest, and consequently 
his charge, so that with those few words spoken to him in 
a low deferential tone the warm blood for a moment 
flushed his face a deeper glow. 

Again ensued a little pause. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he calmly, “ this is my house ; will 
you not be seated ? ” 

The words, quiet, simple, dignified, seemed as if about 
to create a panic. Then Col. Miron spoke brusquely, 
“ Sir, we are not allowed to sit in your presence.” 

Alfred looked at the party, blank astonishment ex- 
pressed in every feature of his face. 

“ Cannot sit in my presence ! ” he exclaimed. “ What 
do you mean? Centlemen,” and his voice rang out sharp, 
clear and stern, " were I in your homes I would expect to 
remember all that such a position would require of me, and 
would govern my movements accordingly, as befits a man 
and a gentleman.” 


212 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


Like a blade of steel those words cut the air, which 
seemed tingling with some intense magnetic undercurrent. 

Involuntarily Alfred had stiffened, and now seemed to 
be rigid in every part; he suddenly found himself keenly 
upon the alert and defensive. 

Consternation seemed to seize him. The tense feeling 
grew. 

Suddenly Alfred felt himself pitted alone against the 
whole party. What did he expect? He did not know. 
He only found himself watching, intensely alert. 

“ Sir,” said the man John Ahrnut, who seemed to be 
the spokesman and leader of the party, “ I know that our 
attitude must appear most strange to you, and I pray you 
be patient with us, for we have a very peculiar and difficult 
errand to perform.” His voice was low and deferential. 
“ Will you pardon me, if I seem to be assuming a preroga- 
tive, and ask you if you will not be seated? What I have 
to say may be long.” 

Alfred waved the request aside. “ Say on, he said, 
“ I will listen.” 

A death-like silence settled over the entire party as 
John Ahrnut began his narration. 

His voice was low, almost pleading, yet every word, 
every tone was clearly distinct. 

“ You may have heard or read a few weeks ago of the 
shocking accident that destroyed the life of the Crown 
Prince Raoul, son of the Emperor Paul ? ” 

Alfred bowed, without speaking. 

" But the startling and almost seemingly improbable 
part of the tale is that it was not the Crown Prince who 
was killed after all.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 213 

“ Not the Crown Prince! ” echoed Alfred. 

“ No,” resumed the other. “ By a peculiar accident 
the Emperor learned that the man who was killed* was not 
his son.” 

“ Not his son!” Alfred found himself repeating the 
man's words and interested in spite of himself. “ But, 
continued he, “ at first you say it was the Crown Prince 
who was killed, then you deny it; your words are very 
strange. Did not the Emperor know his own son ? ” 

“ As I said, “ answered John Ahrnut, “ it was by acci- 
dent alone that the Emperor learned that the dead man was 
not his son as he had believed. Col. Miron here was 
present, attending upon my uncle — Ah ! ” He checked 
himself suddenly. 

“ You ! ” said Alfred sharply, “ are — ” 

“ John of Ainhault,” was the low reply. 

And Prince of Polen ” finished Alfred. 

The other bowed, then resumed, “ Col. Miron was in 
attendance upon my uncle, the Emperor, when he, the Em- 
peror, heard his brother, the Archduke Walther, bewail his 
failure, after having, years before, substituted his son for 
the son of the Emperor, thereby determining to place his 
son upon the throne ; and having made the change success- 
fully, carried the rightful heir away to a life of obscurity. 
That his plans would have ultimately succeeded, had not 
the tragic death of the supposed Crown Prince frustrated 
his schemes, is reasonable to assume.” 

" And the rightful heir?” said Alfred. 

“ Was carried away to this country by Walther him- 
self and left in obscurity to be brought up in complete 
isolation and separation from everything that pertained to 


214 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

him or his. The Archduke did not even stop to learn the 
name of the people with whom he left him.” 

“ Your tale, sir,” said Alfred, “ is indeed a strange one, 
and I take it that your mission here is to find the lost heir.” 
John of Ainhault bowed. “ And you were finding some 
difficulty in tracing him ? ” 

“ Yes, and until last night the search was threatening 
to become exceedingly difficult.” 

“ Until last night?” 

“ Yes, at the opera.” 

“ At the opera ? ” 

“ Yes, the Archduke who was present recognized him 
from the strong resemblance he bore to the Empress, his 
mother.” 

“ And that man,” said Alfred, now thoroughly in- 
terested. 

“ That man,” said the other, repeating his words, 
“ that man is yourself.” 

A death like silence rested upon all present. 

Alfred Raymond stood as if dazed. He heard the 
words that answered to his question, but at first their full 
meaning failed to touch him; then, slowly they began to 
seep through his shocked senses like a deadly burning 
poison. They stung him in every part like a white hot 
iron. Then, out over the painful, breathless silence rang 
a defiant indignant denial. 

“ You lie!” 

John of Ainhault staggered back as if smitten a terrific 
blow. He, a Royal Prince of an Imperial house, given the 
lie, as it were, square in the face. For a moment the blood 
forsook his face, leaving him fairly livid. He felt as if he 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 215 

were choking. Then his manhood asserted itself. He 
gathered himself together as if for a mighty spring. The 
veins stood out upon his head and throat like whipcords. 

Col. Miron stepped forward and spoke, “ Your High- 
ness, have a care.” 

He looked up and encountered those grand gray eyes 
of Alfred Raymond now blazing with a lurid light and he 
stepped back. 

Almost at once that deadly light died out, and Alfred 
stepped forward with outstretched hands. “ Pardon me,” 
said he, “ but I am not used to practical jokes, and, really,” 
said he, “ I do not like them, and I must ask you to let this 
ridiculous farce go no further.” The gentle dignity of the 
man was wonderful. 

“ But,” insisted John of Ainhault, “ it is no farce ; it 
is the truth.” 

“ Really,” began Alfred haughtily, and that dangerous 
light began to show again in his eyes when the other in- 
terrupted him. 

“ But I assure you it is no farce, it is the truth. The 
Archduke Walther is here himself ; he recognized you at 
once, as I have said, from your strong resemblance to the 
Empress, your mother, who died at your birth.” 

Alfred turned pale. “ But, gentlemen,” said he with 
gentle patience, this is foolish ; my mother is living with me 
here in this house; you have simply been misled by some 
fancied resemblance. I am very sorry to disappoint you,.' 
but you have made a mistake. You will pardon me but 
this interview does not appeal to me, so I beg you will 
excuse me and terminate it.” 


216 My Land . My Country . M3; Home. 

He stepped to the doorway and flung back the 
draperies. There was no mistaking his action. 

“ Your mother is living with you here,” said the Arch- 
duke Walther, “ will you permit us to see her? ” 

“ Gentlemen,” was the cold reply, “ it is useless, I tell 
you that you have made a mistake, — ” 

“ Oh, of course,” said the Archduke Walther with a 
sneer, “ if you fear to call her — ” 

“ Stop ! ” Alfred turned white. A hot reply burned 
upon his lips, then he remembered that his mother had 
always taught him to be a man and a gentleman. He 
paused, a strange half pitying smile upon his face. He 
would call his mother and so end the whole ridiculous 
affair. 

He walked to the foot of the staircase and called, 
“ mother.” 

“ Yes, Boy,” was the reply. 

“Will you come down?” His voice was ineffably 
sweet and tender. 

A feeling of uneasiness began to pervade the waiting 
company. Some of them began to doubt. Suppose the 
Archduke were mistaken, the search would be more diffi- 
cult than ever, and the present situation would be only the 
more awkward. 

Only the Archduke Walther remained confident. 

Presently a light step was heard descending the stair; 
then the soft rustle of a woman’s garments. There was a 
low questioning exclamation, “What is it, Boy?” 

In a moment Alfred re-entered the room bearing upon 
his arm a snowy-haired slender woman. 

Margaret Raymond had changed greatly since last we 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 217 

saw her. The luxuriant brown hair that adorned her head 
was now bleached to a silvery white. She had never re- 
covered from the shock of that one bitter experience when 
she had forsaken her home for the safety of her children, 
while the long years of privation had gradually sapped her 
vitality ; and now as she entered the room clad in the simple 
garments of the religious sect to which she belonged, her 
face calm, pale and spirituelle, she presented a striking, 
albeit, beautiful picture. 

Only her fine brown eyes seemed to have retained their 
vitality and spirit. 

She looked toward the waiting expectant men with a 
calm questioning glance. 

Alfred started to speak, to explain, when he felt his 
mother’s hand grip his arm fiercely. 

She stepped forward toward the Archduke. 

“You!” her voice rang out shrilly. “You! What 
do you want here ? ” Then she stepped back, and, placing 
herself between Alfred and the men, she flung out her arms, 
as if seeking to receive the blow aimed at him. 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” said he, “ what do you mean ? 
You do not know these men ! ” He caught her in his arms. 
“Why! you are trembling! Your hands are like ice! 
Surely, you do not know these people ! ” 

“Alfred! Boy! Boy! That man!” 

Slowly she put his arms away from her. An icy hand 
seemed laid upon him. He shuddered. 

A deadly fear came over her. Fear for him. 

He watched his mother as she turned toward the Arch- 
duke Walther. 

She addressed herself to him. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


218 


“ You have come for him? ” Oh, the deadly calmness 
of her voice. 

The man bowed. 

“ Let me sit down.” They placed a chair for her. 

“ Call Margaret,” said she, “ she must know also.” 

All eyes were observing her closely. 

As they obeyed her request, Margaret Raymond, the 
younger, came. 

“ Margaret,” said the mother, “ come and sit by me, I 
have something to tell, and you must hear it now.” 

Obeying her mother's request the younger woman 
drew a chair close beside her, and seating herself, she en- 
circled that dear form in close loving embrace. 

Alfred stood apart. The one solitary figure present. 
He seemed turned to stone. 

Margaret Raymond turned toward him and stretched 
out her arms in piteous appeal. 

“ Boy, boy,” said she, “ I had never intended to have 
told you.” 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” Oh, the sharp agony of that 

cry. 

“ Listen, Boy ; I do not know who these men are. I 
do not know from whence they come. I only know that 
they have come for you, and now I must give you up.” 

“Mother! Mother! What are you saying? Give me 
up ! Am I not your son ? ” 

Margaret Raymond shook her head slowly and sadly, 
and at sight of that motion every vestige of color died out 
of the face of Alfred Raymond, leaving it ghastly and 
drawn. 

“ No, Boy,” said she mournfully, “ you are not my son. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 219 

I am not your mother. This man brought you to me when 
you were a little babe of not more than three or four weeks 
of age. I was alone. My parents were dead. One night 
someone rapped at my door. I, thinking it might be one of 
the neighbors, opened it ; this man stepped in. He had a 
bundle on his arm. I thought nothing strange of that, as 
often work was brought me. I asked him to step in; he 
did so. He never spoke but laid the bundle in my arms. 
Immediately I knew that it was not an inanimate thing. 
In my surprise I remained speechless; he, after a moment, 
turned and went out, and, listening, I heard a vehicle being 
driven rapidly away; the bundle in my arms stirred, from it 
there came the cry of a child, and, opening it, I found you.” 

“ My first thought was, Where should I take you ? what 
should I do with you? It was so unexpected, so unthought 
of that I was seized with a great consternation. Your feeble 
cries roused me to action; I saw that it was from hunger 
that you were crying, so I quickly prepared food and fed 
you. While doing so your little baby hands clasped them 
upon mine, around my heart, around my life, and I began 
to realize that I did not want to let you go ; that I could not 
let you go. When your tender baby form lay upon my 
breast, and my arms held you in close warm embrace, I 
determined, at whatever cost, I should keep you for my 
own. When John Raymond found you with me he showed 
me the position into which I had unconsciously placed my- 
self, and to still the speech of people I consented to marry 
him and go away, at the same time I felt that as the man 
who had left you had asked no questions, nor made any 
comment, it might serve as a hindrance to their ever finding 
you again; and not for one instant have I ever regretted 


220 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


my decision at that time, for you have been to me all that 
a son could be.” 

Simple, terse, plain, the whole story was told. 

“ Boy, Boy, can you ever forgive me the only deception 
I have ever practiced?” 

Alfred had not moved; all the light and life seemed to 
have gone out of him ; at those plaintive words he woke to 
life. He struggled and fought to throw off ’the mighty 
chains that seemed to have bound him hand and foot. He 
begged, »he pleaded, he prayed her to tell him it was not true. 
He would not, he could not believe it. 

“ Go to him, Margaret,” said the mother. 

The younger woman rose, and as she did so she stood 
for a moment face to face with John of Ainhault; and as 
he looked into that beautiful fair face, and those velvety 
blue eyes, he wondered what manner of people these might 
be. He had come to this land fully expecting, as he had 
been taught, to find a country of semi-barbarians, but in- 
stead he had come face to face with such a degree of 
dignity and refinement, such wealth and power, as he had 
not thought could exist outside the cities of the old world; 
while its women, in beauty and grace, excelled any he had 
seen anywhere, and it was with eager longing eyes that he 
watched that beautiful girl, as, at her mother’s bidding, 
she went to the brother she had loved so dearly, and with 
all the unstudied grace and simplicity of a child she laid 
her head upon his breast and clasping him close in her arms, 
said, as she pressed her pallid face to his icy cheek, “ Alfred, 
my brother, listen to me, for you are my brother in the 
sight of God just as truly as if you had been made blood 
of my blood and flesh of my flesh.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 221 

At the sound of that low rich voice and those wonder- 
ful words, John of Ainhault started as if he had been 
stung. “ Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh,” the 
veil dropped from before his eyes. Now he knew why he 
had not cared for woman before. Here was the one woman 
that his soul called for; but in that same instant he recog- 
nized that, hedged about by the laws and customs of his 
land, as he was, she was as far removed from him as the 
east was from the west and his great soul writhed in 
anguish; but her voice was going on, nor did he wish to 
lose one tone of it, now that he had heard it, while he knew 
that the sound of it would never leave him. “ Bobo, you 
have not forgotten the dear little sister who has gone on 
before? You do not think that God sent you to us for 
nothing? Have you forgotten, dear one, what you said 
to mother the day I came? Listen, dear, listen to me; you 
are so distressed, I will tell you.” 

Like a child she soothed him, while an intense silence 
hung upon every, every tone of her young voice. “ Mother 
has often told me; good Mrs. Beaton was there, and she 
took me up and you asked if you might touch me; don't 
you remember how my baby fingers closed around yours, 
and how you trembled, and then don’t you remember how 
you went and whispered in mothers ear, ‘ Wasn't God good 
to bring me a little sister? For that was just what I 
wanted.’ And the darling little sister who went away? 
Bobo,” she was sobbing silently, now, and calling him by 
the old pet name. Gradually she was drawing him back 
from the black horror into which he had been drawn ; he 
was becoming more quiet now. 

John of Ainhault never removed his gaze from that 


222 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

pathetic scene. To him she seemed some angelic spirit 
sent from Heaven to bring comfort and soothing, and his 
soul groaned for her; but she was speaking again after a 
short pause and he did not wish to lose one tone of that 
voice. “ So what does it matter what they say or do, 
Bobo, you are ours and now more than ever. What does it 
matter whom they say you are; you are ours, dear one, 
mother’s -and mine, so nothing else can matter.” 

At last, exhausted, he was silent. The struggle had 
been terrible, and the pity was that no man, no, not even 
God Himself could help him. Upon the pitiless iron wheel 
of destiny he was bound hand and foot. 

He was silent now with a horrible, deathly silence. 
His struggles had stopped. Those heart-breaking moans 
had ceased. 

His mother rose, and seeing that broken bowed form, 
said, in a low voice, “ Whom do they say that your are, 
Boy?” 

John of Ainhault replied. “ He is the son of the 
Emperor Paul of Carona, and heir to the greatest Empire 
in the world.” 

Margaret Raymond seemed to dilate and grow taller. 
Her voice rang out clear and distinct. 

“ What ! That beast ? That ingrate ? That black- 
hearted wife murderer?” Her face became drawn with 
an inexpressible horror. “No! No! Not that! Not that! 
Oh, God in Heaven ! Anything but that ! Anything but 
that ! Boy ! Boy ! Boy ! ” she called to him with fearful 
energy. 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” It was like a cry from the 
realms of the lost. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 223 

“ Boy ! Boy ! ” She took one step forward, then, like 
a flash he sprung forward, as she sunk down lifeless. 

In his strong young arms he carried her to a couch, 
calling, “ Madge ! Madge ! Call Dr. Burwell ! Quick ! ” 

There was the sound of running feet, then someone 
called at the phone. 

Alfred laid his burden down, but did not see the great 
dark red stain upon the front of his coat; he saw only the 
ghastly-white face that lay upon his arm. 

Someone stepped forward and spoke, “I am a 
physician, let me — ” 

“ Stand back! ” he almost shouted. “ You have done 
enough of your hellish work ! Madge ! Come quick, bring 
some water, she has fainted ! ” 

In an incredibly short time a motor dashed up to the 
door and stopped. The Doctor came hurriedly in. One 
sharp look into that white calm face and he knew that the 
thing that he had dreaded had transpired. 

He called the maid and led the frightened girl from 
the room ; then he went up to. the kneeling man, and bend- 
ing down, said gently, “ Let me lay her down, Alfred.” 

Alfred looked into that kindly honest face, and at 
something he saw there his heart seemed to stop beating. 
The awful truth was out. 

" Oh, Doctor,” he moaned, “ I cannot, I cannot ; don’t 
you see that if I lay her down I can never take her up 
again. She will be gone and I cannot find her. Oh, Doctor, 
think, think,” and -his voice rose in a heart-breaking sob, 
that shook him from head to foot. “ When they brought 
me to her, a helpless, homeless, friendless babe, she did not 
let me go. She did not cast me out. She has never let me 


224 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

go. She has never cast me out. She never even stopped 
to count the cost. She was willing to bear even the re- 
proach of shame for me. Think! Oh, think of how she 
gave up her home, everything, and went out with her two 
helpless little ones into the darkness and the unknown 
world, facing all its difficulties, all its trials, willing to 
face even poverty itself for me; nor once did she falter. 
Doctor, all that I am to-day she has made me. Oh! I 
cannot let her go ! ” 

“ Then remember, Alfred,” said Dr. Burwell kindly, 
“ that she has made you a man ; and that she would have 
you to be a man of whom she would not wish to be ashamed. 
Remember your sister, Margaret, you are all she has, and 
you will not fail her now.” 

Dr. Burwell was ignorant of the past as well as of the 
recent denouement. So he got him away. As he returned 
to the room he noticed the party of strangers, and as he 
looked inquiringly toward them, John of Ainhault stepped 
forward and said, “We were present when this — this dis- 
tressing accident occurred. Here is my card; anything I 
can do, command me.” 

The party silently left the house. Only Col. Miron 
lingered without. After some hours he was relieved; an- 
other took his place. So the silent watch went on. 

On the day that Burgmuller had succeeded in enlisting 
the aid of Alfred Raymond he chanced to meet Col. Miron 
upon the street, and learning from him of the presence of 
the Ducal party in the city, had placed the box at the opera 
at their disposal, and in that way the missing link in the 
chain was discovered, and the result we already know. 

About ten o’clock of the morning of the day following 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 225 

the sad tragedy at the home of Alfred Raymond a carriage 
stopped at the door. A footman in livery sprang down 
and opened the door. John of Ainhault descended and 
walked up the steps to the house, while the footman fol- 
lowed carrying a large package. 

The maid admitted them. As the Archduke entered 
the hall he handed her his card and asked her to give it to 
Alfred Raymond, saying that he would deem it a great 
favor if he would see him. In a few moments she re- 
turned, saying that he would see his lordship, and requested 
him to pass into the music room. 

After a few minutes, Alfred, for such we will continue 
to call him, came. 

The change in the man from the time the Archduke 
had seen him enter before was striking. Then he had come, 
light, buoyant, almost eagerly expectant, flushed and glow- 
ing; now he entered slowly and lifeless. His handsome 
face, which had glowed so with health and happiness, was 
now pale to ghastliness. 

Those great golden-gray eyes, that had glowed so like 
great jewels, were now dark and somber, while underneath 
lay a dark shadow, like a bruise upon the white flesh. 

The Archduke rose and saluted. 

The other bowed. 

“You wished to see me?” The voice was low and 
calm. 

“ I beg that you will pardon what may seen like an 
unwarrantable intrusion at this time,” said John of Ain- 
hault, “ but I have brought a small token of respect, and 
crave your permission to place it at — at — ” 

A spasm of pain passed over Alfred's face and his 


226 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

lips quivered like a hurt child as he pressed his hand sharply 
against them. 

The other stopped, not knowing how to proceed. He 
was aware of a painful choking in his throat ; something he 
had never known before, and found himself unable to go on. 

For a moment silence rested between them, then Alfred, 
mastering his emotion, said, “ It is yours.” 

The Archduke stepped into the hall, and at a sign 
from him the footman opened the package as he held out 
his arms and drew from it a magnificent mass of fragrant 
white lilies, cunningly woven, and laid it over them, so 
that as they lay upon his outstretched arms they looked 
like a great white robe. 

When he re-entered the room Alfred stepped forward 
and drew back the doors that separated the two rooms, 
motioning him to enter. 

Within a gray velvet-covered satin-lined casket, so 
made that the front and side let down and looked a part 
of the draped divan upon which it rested, all that was mortal 
of Margaret Raymond lay. 

Robed in the silver-gray of the religious sect to which 
she belonged ; her pale worn hands crossed upon her breast, 
her feet shod with the same color as her dress, her snowy- 
white hair parted and drawn softly back from her fair 
white brow and face, from which every line had been erased 
by the hand of death, she looked like some wonderful high- 
priestess returning in triumph to the God at whose bidding 
she had come forth to serve, and now, her labor ended, she 
was returning at the summons of that Great King to receive 
the greatest reward that could be bestowed upon mortal. 
“ Well done, good and faithful servant, thou has been 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 227 

faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many. 
Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” 

With reverently bowed head John of Ainhault moved 
forward and laid his gift along and over the back of the 
casket, from which it seemed to drop down and over the 
shoulder of the silent sleeper within like a veritable Robe 
of Glory. 

Sinking upon one knee with lowly bended head, he 
involuntarily repeated the prayer for the dead of his 
church ; realizing suddenly for the first time, that the same 
God who ruled there was the one and supreme God of the? 
whole world, and the loving Father of all. 

As they returned to the rear room, he turned toward 
Alfred with outstretched hand, and with a look of pathetic 
beseeching upon his fine face, said, “ Will you not take my 
hand?” 

Alfred stood for a moment, then stepping quickly for- 
ward, he grasped those strong friendly hands in his own 
with a firm grasp. 

For a moment the two men stood motionless, then 
John of Ainhault dropped upon one knee, and touching 
those hands first with his lips, he carried them to his 
forehead, then to his heart, as he murmured, “ My Liege 
and my Prince.” 

A moment later and he was gone. 


228 


My Land . My Country . My Home. 


CHAPTER XIII 

“ And I heard a voice saying unto me, Right, Blessed 
are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth ; Yea, 
saith the Spirit that they may rest from their labours ; and 
their works do follow them.” 

John of Ainhault was standing in the midst of a small 
company of men at a few paces from the open grave. 

The warm golden sunlight of the October day rested 
upon the little gathering in the burying ground at West- 
port where they had assembled to lay all that was mortal of 
Margaret Raymond away in the grave, with a gentle sooth- 
ing touch. 

The oaken box, which contained the gray velvet-cov- 
ered casket, rested above the yawning grave. The last 
sad rites were about to be performed, when there occurred 
a slight pause. Then upon the hushed little company those 
words fell like an Heavenly Benediction; immediately all 
heads were uncovered, as the words were repeated, and 
looking up the Archduke saw standing near the head of the 
grave a quiet, unprepossessing looking man, clad in long 
sober-gray garments, wearing a high-crowned broad- 
brimmed hat. 

As the speaker proceeded, he forgot the man and saw 
only the grand character and noble life of the woman who 
had gone on before, as portrayed by this simple homely 
man in a few clean bold strokes, like a picture done by 
some skilled artist. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 229 

As he heard the wonderful life story of this noble 
woman, and realized the grand character as it was por- 
trayed by this masterly hand, he wondered, with a deep 
wordless wonder; as we have said, he had come to these 
people expecting to find at best but a rough uncouth race, 
and instead he had found but the finest and noblest. In 
his land, and in his sphere, he had come to believe that 
only the so-called “ better class ” could enter upon the 
higher, holier walks of life and accomplish great and noble 
things, and here he had found a people who were not 
ashamed to labor with their hands. Ashamed ! Far from 
it ! It was their pride. In fact their very labor ennobled 
and dignified them; and those things which he had come 
to think were highest and noblest were to these simple, 
grand people but a part of their daily walk and conversa- 
tion. 

He heard the words spoken by this man as he had 
never yet heard them spoken by Priest or Archbishop, 
“ He will swallow up death in victory ; and the Lord God 
will wipe away tears from all faces; and the rebuke of his 
people shall he take away from off all the earth; for the 
Lord hath spoken it.” 

The voice stopped. A man stepped forward. It was 
the undertaker. There was a slight pause. In arranging 
the last sad rites the lowering of the casket had been over- 
looked. The undertaker looked helplessly around and 
encountered the eyes of the Archduke John. Just a glance, 
then John of Ainhault stepped forward and took the upper 
right hand strap, Sir Isaac Davis took the left, Admiral 
Sefton took the lower right and Col. Miron took the left. 

Slowly the casket swung clear; the props were re- 


230 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


moved, and then, without jar or jolt, the body of Margaret 
Raymond slowly sank to its final resting place. 

Never has royal king or potentate ever received more 
princely burial than was thus accorded this simple noble 
woman. 

John Raymond, dark, silent, stood a little apart, 
stricken to the soul; he had sinned, sinned grievously, and 
now he was paying the penalty ; the bitter penalty. 

Only separated from him by a few feet stood the 
noble man, the boy he had so outrageously mistreated, the 
foster son of his noble, beautiful wife. 

Together with that son stood his daughter, in part the 
image of the grand woman who had now passed on. 

It seemed to him that an impassable gulf was fixed 
separating him from them. Just then Friend Nathan 
Arnold stepped up to Alfred and said, as he stood with 
outstretched hand, “ Friend Alfred and Friend Margaret, 
I have a communication from Friend Margaret, who has 
just passed on from us, which I would like to deliver as 
soon as the last duties here are performed,” indicating 
the filling of the grave. “ Will you come to my house or — ” 

At that John Raymond stepped forth, having heard 
the remark, and said, “ Would it not be well, Friend Arnold, 
for you to come to my house? ” 

At the sound of that voice Alfred Raymond looked 
up quickly. It was the voice he had not heard for nearly 
twenty years, and it rolled back the intervening years like 
a scroll, and thus looking up, the eyes of Alfred and his 
foster father met, and both felt that the time had come 
when all shadows, uncertainties and misunderstandings 
must forever be dispersed. Then like a flash the thought 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 231 

burst upon him with an overwhelming force that he had 
no part against this man ; that a power, over which he had 
not even a shadow of influence, had cast him, a frail bit 
of wreckage, into the life of the woman who so nobly had 
befriended and sheltered him. She had belonged to them, 
they to her. But he was nothing to them; he was but a 
thing apart. And as he felt the pressure of the soft clasp 
of Margaret Raymond upon his arm the utter isolation of 
his position stabbed him to the soul with a piercing keenness. 

This beautiful girl whom he had idolized as his own 
baby sister, whom he had loved so and watched over so 
jealously and carefully through the years, and the dear 
little one who had gone on so long before, were they after 
all nothing to him? The agony of it seemed almost more 
than he could bear. 

He could hear that awful rattling sound as they led 
him away, and through it he could hear the calm voice of 
Friend Nathan Arnold, who had misinterpreted his silence, 
saying, “ You must acknowledge, Alfred, that your father 
has some rights and privileges that we are in duty bound 
to recognize,” Friend Nathan Arnold being in ignorance 
of Alfred’s true birth. 

Margaret Raymond moved on at his side, almost over- 
whelmed by the sad and tragic death of her mother, hearing 
those words became painfully aware that another crisis 
was at hand. 

She had heard the request of Friend Nathan Arnold, 
and the reply from the dark silent man who stood near by, 
and as she heard his name spoken it was with a dazed feel- 
ing of astonishment that she began to realize that she was 
looking upon her own father. 


232 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

In the meantime Alfred had yielded to the appeal of 
the two men ; in fact, so eager had they both been to bring 
about that which they both believed to be the most com- 
fortable results that they had not noticed that the man 
was more dazed and overwhelmed by the recent catastrophe 
than from any personal reluctance to comply. 

After a few moments they returned to the grave. 
But what a transformation! They had seen that yawning 
dark gash in the earth, that pile of unseemly raw ground, 
but now instead, where before all had betokened sorrow, 
tragedy and agony, now all bespoke only beauty, fragrance 
and holiness. Over that cruel wound upon the face of the 
fair beautiful earth was stretched a magnificent robe of 
spotless white golden-hearted lilies, breathing out their 
fragrance like a prayer of hope upon the air. 

Walther, Archduke, in charge of Admiral Sefton, Sir 
Isaac Davis, and the remainder of the party, had departed. 
Col. Miron lingered without near the waiting vehicle. 

Within the living room of the old Raymond home 
were gathered John and Margaret Raymond, his daughter, 
who now for the first time stood beneath her father's roof, 
Alfred Raymond, Friend Nathan Arnold and John of 
Ainhault. 

In suchwise had they kept watch, that waking or 
sleeping not for one moment had Alfred escaped the strict 
espionage they had set upon him from the first time they 
had found him. 

Born a prisoner of state and circumstances, by cir- 
cumstances flung and reared in a life of absolute inde- 
pendence and freedom, now at the beginning of a wonder- 
fully promising career, though all unconscious, we find 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 23 3 

him betrayed by the same circumstances, again a prisoner 
of state and circumstances. 

The warm gentle rays of the October sun bathed the 
old oak-raftered room with its quaint homely sitting in a 
soft mellow light. 

Alfred had seated himself near a table at one side 
of the room, his head resting upon the hand that shaded 
his handsome pallid face, while Margaret, having removed 
her bonnet and wrap, now drew a chair up beside him, and 
taking his disengaged hand held it closely clasped in both 
of hers. 

John of Ainhault, half hidden within the deep recess 
of one of the windows, remained standing, and looking 
upon the gold-crowned head and beautiful face of the 
young girl, felt that to him had been vouchsafed a glimpse 
of Paradise, but with a keen smart he realized that it was 
a Paradise not for him. 

Suddenly, a mad, wild thought flashed through his 
brain that almost made him reel from the place where he 
stood. He put his hand out as if to ward off a sudden 
attack. 

He had often heard of men who had flung away all 
that life had held most dear and he had scoffed. And now 
he — he, John of Ainhault, Prince of Polen, was tempted 
as almost never man was tempted before. 

For this fair beautiful girl he, John of Ainhault, was 
sorely tempted to fling everything aside and cast in his 
lot with this wonderful people, with this wonderful coun- 
try, if he could only win this peerless woman for his own. 

At that moment his glance rested upon the bowed head 
and form of Alfred Raymond, and at that sight all the rigid 


234 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

insurmountable difficulties of his position stood out before 
him intensified a thousand fold. 

Had he not already acknowledged his allegiance to this 
unknown Prince of his father’s house? Had not his very 
heart and soul already gone out in love and fealty to this 
terribly stricken man? And unknown to himself John 
of Ainhault was unconsciously, yet consciously, striving to 
comply to the Divine injunction, “No man, having put his 
hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom 
of God.” 

Just at that moment Friend Nathan Arnold drew forth 
a packet of papers and laid them upon the table beside him. 

John Raymond had taken a seat across the room from 
where he could plainly see. 

Slowly and deliberately Friend Nathan Arnold drew 
out his spectacles, and after having removed his hat, wiped 
them and carefully adjusted them. 

“ These papers, friends,” said he, “ were entrusted to 
me by Friend Margaret at the time she journeyed back 
from New York, about eighteen years ago, to place beside 
her parents the remains of her infant daughter, asking me 
to take charge of them, and appointing me trustee of the 
estate left to her by her father and mother. 

“ At that time she related to me, in part, the reason she 
had for having so suddenly left her home and her husband’s 
house.” 

John Raymond’s face was turned away, nor would he 
meet the look turned upon him by Friend Nathan Arnold. 

The speaker continued : “ Among them, she said, was a 

letter addressed to me, which, in the event of her death, 
she wished me to read to you, explaining that there were a 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


235 


few things which must be made known to all before the 
business part of the trust could be entered upon. 

“ The letter I hold in my hand now ; the seal is un- 
broken; and obeying the request she made of me at that 
time I now break it in your presence.” 

There was a pause, interrupted only by the snapping of 
the wax, which had dried and hardened with the passing 
of the years, and the rustling of the paper as Friend 
Nathan Arnold drew it from the wrapper. 

All were intensely interested, only Alfred never moved, 
almost it seemed that he had not heard. 

John Raymond grew pale. Margaret drew a little 
closer to Alfred and leaned lightly against his shoulder. 
John of Ainhault watched the scene closely. 

Friend Nathan Arnold was reading. The letter was 
the story Margaret Raymond had told to Alfred and the 
Imperial party and the first part was addressed to the 
reader. At the conclusion of that part, Friend Nathan 
Arnold remained with bowed head, buried in deep thought. 
No one present seemed to wish to break the painful silence. 
At length he resumed, and in this part she gave a full ex- 
planation of her reason for leaving her husband and her 
home and remaining so long in seclusion. As the reader 
slowly pursued his way through that part of the letter it 
was with great difficulty that he seemed able to control 
himself, but succeeding in keeping his deep inward feeling 
from mastering him, he continued. 

John Raymond, as he listened to this dark recital of 
the past, was overwhelmed with shame; all the hideous 
past stood out in all its ghastly nakedness. John of Ain- 


236 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

hault listened in horrified silence. But the reader was going 
on. 

“ And now, oh, my daughter,” this part of the letter 
was addressed to Margaret, “ that you know that the boy 
.whom I let the world call my son, and whom I called Alfred 
Raymond, the boy whom I let the world call my son, and 
whom I called Alfred Raymond — ” 

At the sound of those words Alfred felt a deathly 
numbness stealing over him, the awful, cruel past had been 
called up with all of its painful memories, and, but for the 
warm, Arm pressure of those little hands upon his cold 
ones, he felt he must have gone mad. And still that deep, 
kindly, gentle voice went on : “ the boy whom I called 
Alfred Raymond, will be all alone in the world when I am 
gone, and I want you, my daughter, to take my place and 
be mother as well as sister to him. 

“ When I think upon the night he came to me, a little, 
helpless, tiny, frail bit of humanity, cast up by the great 
sea of the world, helpless, homeless, friendless, my soul 
faints within me as I wonder what manner of men these 
must be who would commit such a brutal deed as this, and 
yet I feel to thank God that it was so, for surely woman 
never yet bore son who has been a more true son, and 
greater comfort and joy than Alfred has been to mine and 
to me. And now, my daughter, as I have said before, re- 
member that you are all that he has now ; love and cherish 
him for my sake as well as for his and your own ; all that 
I have I have caused to be given to him and to you ; he is 
my son from the hand of God, as you, my daughter, are 
mine, flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood. Honor and 
respect your mother. 


Margaret Rathmore Raymond.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 237 

The letter was finished; the papers were read that 
divided the goodly estate left to Margaret Raymond, be- 
tween Alfred and Margaret. Friend Nathan Arnold was 
laying them in order preparatory to delivering them up, 
when Alfred rose slowly to his feet, gently disengaging 
Margaret’s clasp from his hand. 

At that moment all eyes were turned wonderingly upon 
him; his face was white and drawn with pain; the awful 
agony that had rested there at the tragic death of the 
woman whom he had idolized as his mother, was replaced 
with such a look of desolation that the eyes of those who 
beheld him filled with hot, burning tears. 

“ Friend Nathan Arnold,” oh, the dreariness of that 
voice. “ I may call you that, mayn’t I ? ” The other bowed, 
not daring to trust his voice. 

“ Until a few days ago I believed myself to be the 
son of her, the only woman I ever named the sacred name 
of mother. Can you understand the awful shock I received 
when I learned that I was nothing to her; only an alien? 
That I had no claim upon her, even when I knew that 
everything that I have and am in life I owe to her? Yes; 
almost my very existence I owe to her. When I think 
how she took me, a homeless, nameless waif, nor stopped 
one instant to question or demur, but accepted the trust 
imposed upon her; can you for one moment understand 
the agony of my heart ? I have often wondered what those 
lost souls must feel who are forever condemned to eternal 
punishment. How they have felt, when looking back upon 
Heaven they have lost, at finding themselves shut without 
in darkness and despair.” 

His voice sunk to a hoarse whisper as his head dropped 


238 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

low. “ Now I have found out. You hold in your hands 
the instrument that conveys one-half of her estate to me. 
I wish you to draw up immediately a form, wherein I re- 
linquish every claim in favor of her daughter and only 
child, Margaret Raymond.” 

They would have interrupted him, but he held up his 
hand and stayed their objections. 

“ You do not know who and what I am, and I will tell 
you.” Oh, the bitterness of his words. “ They tell me that 
I am the son of that black-hearted profligate, that monster 
in human form, the Emperor Paul.” 

Friend Nathan Arnold stood transfixed with horror. 
John Raymond buried his face in his hands and shook as 
with an ague. John of Ainhault hung his head with shame. 
With the pure eyes and soul of this man he saw the hideous 
rottenness of his father’s house as he had never seen it 
before. 

Alfred was going on. His voice rose in terrible 
dreariness. 

“ Already my feet take hold on Hell, they go down, 
down into the miry pit ” 

“ Alfred ! ” A piercing scream rent the air. He was 
sitting upon a broad settee. Margaret was holding him in 
her beautiful young arms like a little child, his head pil- 
lowed upon her breast; the tears rained down from her eyes 
and fell upon his marble white face. “Alfred! Stop! 
Stop ! Listen to me ! Listen to me ! I am Margaret. The 
little baby Margaret that you loved so; I am the sister 
mother gave to you. You are the son God gave to her. You 
are hers, you are mine, and nothing else matters. Oh, my 
brother, my brother,” she moaned, rocking herself to and 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 239 

fro. “ Don’t ! don’t say those awful things ; oh, you break 
my heart. Listen, Boy,” calling him by the old pet name, 
“ Mother gave you to me and I am so glad ; oh, my mother, 
my mother,” she cried, “ to think that I never knew the 
half of all you have been and done for us. You gave him 
to me, and now you are gone and I can never make it up 
to you. Oh, why! why did you carry this sorrow alone?” 

She was weeping bitterly, and as those terrible sobs 
shook her, Friend Nathan Arnold said, as he put his arm 
around her and lifted her up to his great heart, “ There 
daughter, don’t cry, don’t cry, your mother knows now, 
and knew before the love both her dear ones had for her, 
and now, dearie,” oh, the tenderness of the man ; “ the good 
Father in Heaven has called her home to himself, and can’t 
we trust Him, dearie? Can’t we trust Him? Trust Him, 

“ ‘ Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest ? ’ ” 

After a little she became calmer. The time of parting 
had come. She turned to her father, “ I am my mother’s 
daughter. I will not deceive you in aught. That my place 
is in your house, as you say, I recognize, but I must ask you 
that you do not seek to require much of me, but let me 
live near you quietly, and perhaps time may help us both 
and draw us near to each other. Friend Nathan Arnold, 
I wish to say a few things to you that you will not mis- 
judge or misunderstand me, but I will probably go many 
times over there ; ” and as she spoke she pointed to where 
the gleaming white stones in the graveyard could be seen 
in the rays of the sinking sun. 

“ You are a father, and you know how natural it is 


240 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

for a little child, when its mother leaves the room to watch 
her in her going, and especially how the little longing eyes 
watch the door through which the mother has passed ; and 
if the child were old enough, you have seen how it has 
made its way to the door and waited for the loved one.” 
The older man bowed. “ So, too, shall I go many times to 
that place, but do not think that I go to grieve or mourn, 
or that I go to worship that mound or that which rests 
beneath it ; but it is out through that gateway that she went 
into the other life; and I am only like the little one you 
have seen, when at times I shall go for a little, and rest, 
and wait, and maybe watch at that same gate. ,, 

“ God bless you, my child,” said he. 

Then she turned to John of Ainhault, her face pale, 
her eyes sad, and, holding out her hands, she laid them in 
his, saying, “ The time has come to part, you have come 
for him, and now he must go; but remember he is your 
charge, from me, and one day I shall demand a faithful 
accounting of your trust.” 

John of Ainhault, strong man though he was, trembled 
as he felt those soft, white hands laid so confidingly in his, 
bent low and touched them to his lips, then carried them 
against his heart, saying in a low voice, “ Dearest lady, I 
accept the charge and one day, God help me, to render 
unto you a good and true account of my stewardship.” 

John Raymond held out his hand. “ Alfred, will you 
take my hand, and taking it, will you try to forgive me the 
wrong I did to you and your mother ? ” 

Alfred took the proffered hand in a firm clasp and 
said, “ I have nothing to forgive, for you did not know.” 
Then turning to Friend Nathan Arnold, he said, “ Friend 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 241 

Nathan Arnold, I have told you whom I am, but before 
you touch me, answer me one question. How can a clean 
thing come from an unclean ?” 

Friend Nathan Arnold bowed his head in thought, his 
lips moved as if he prayed ; as he raised his eyes, his glance 
went past the man before him out at the window beyond. 

All were watching him closely, each one present felt 
that upon his reply the entire destiny of the man before 
him hung. 

His gaze seemed to concentrate, to grow brighter, they 
saw him gather himself together like a mighty warrior 
about to do battle in the interest of right. A look of holy 
assurance seemed to irradiate his features. 

He stepped forward, and taking the soul-stricken man 
by the hand, he led him to the window. All watched him 
with wonder as he raised his free hand, and, pointing to a 
distant pool of water, he said, “ Alfred, do you see yonder 
pool of water that gleams and sparkles in the sunlight, like 
a beautiful jewel in its setting of emerald green ?’* 

Alfred bowed. 

“ You do not know, as this is your first visit to this 
place, that that bit - of sparkling, clear water covers a deep 
and vast bed of black, filthy muck. Were you to enter into 
it and go below the clear water and become covered with 
its slime, and ooze, and stain, it would be long before you 
could become clean from it; and yet, at certain seasons of 
the year, great bucketfuls of it are drawn up and spread 
over the land, and its value to the crops cannot be esti- 
mated; and so would it not be well for us not to name a 
thing filth or slime or to call it unclean? You ask, how 
can a clean thing come from an unclean ? I will answer you. 


242 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Over on the far side of the pool there is a wide bay, and 
in the summer, up from its black miry depths spring great 
dark, glossy, velvety lily pads and cover the entire surface 
with a carpet more beautiful and wonderful than any yet 
conceived and woven by the mind and hand of man ; then, 
one day, up from between the dark pads we see rising in- 
numerable dark green pods, and we watch and wait to see 
what this new development portends, when, lo ! as the sun 
pours his rich, warm, golden rays from the eastern horizon, 
those dark, silent pods have burst and hundreds, yea thou- 
sands, of the most beautiful, waxen, golden-hearted lilies 
have opened up in absolute purity and are shedding their 
exquisite perfume upon the air, such a perfume as cannot 
be reproduced by the hand of man ; such a delicate waxen 
beauty that no other blossom can excel ; and more, the 
wild deer of the forest come down in the early morning, 
and find food and nourishment within those dark, silent, 
glossy pads; and thus is even that which we call the slime 
and filth of the earth made to serve the ends of man. 

“ Friend Alfred,” and his voice took on a tone of deep 
solemnity, “ the mother who bore you, though in bitter 
agony and sorrow, was a holy woman. God’s veritable 
handmaid upon earth, yet it was neither in sin or shame 
that she conceived you, but became rather the chosen 
vessel in the hands of her God to do His Divine will. The 
mother,” and it was here that he spoke with peculiar and 
marked accent ; “ the mother who reared you became an- 
other chosen instrument in His hands for carrying on the 
Divine purpose. When death removed the mother who 
bore you, you were in danger of becoming nothing but a 
petted, pampered, spoiled and vicious princeling, then the 
Divine Father interposed, and through the channels of am- 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 243 

bition and trickery, removed you from all such danger and 
temptation, and by the hand that would have wrought you 
the greatest wrong and harm He brought you the greatest 
safety and good. 

“ The mother He chose to rear and train you was not 
a woman of many words, but a woman of wonderful in- 
sight and spirituality, a woman who so shaped her life and 
lived her creed that, in the lives of the children she has 
reared, she leaves the grandest monument that can be lifted 
to woman’s work and memory. 

“ You say that all you are she has made you. You 
have made a large and bold declaration ; see to it that you 
verify your own words and prove her acts. Make this 
assertion true ‘ she welcomed a charge, a child, she has 
given back a man.’ Alfred Raymond, Boy, dishonor not 
the woman who bore you ; belie not the woman who reared 
you.” For a moment each looked into the face of the other 
and their souls were bared; then the younger man sank 
upon his knee. The hands of the older man were raised; 
slowly they descended until they rested upon the bowed 
head ; then he placed his left hand under the chin and lifted 
the splendid face to the light of the departing day; and 
gently laying the tips of his fingers against the broad white 
forehead, said, “ The Lord bless thee, and keep thee ; the 
Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious 
unto thee ; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and 
give thee peace.” 

Moonlight shone bright on the gleaming white marble 
in the graveyard; clear and bright on the casement where 
Margaret Raymond sat long in the night; on the train 
speeding though the dark, bearing Alfred Raymond on, 
still on into the great unknown future. 


244 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


CHAPTER XIV 

The half-hour whistle had sounded, warning all who 
lingered that the time for farewells was rapidly diminish- 
ing ; all was bustle and excitement. 

Upon the dock of the great liner was gathered the 
usual crowd of sightseers; some had come down hoping 
to catch a last glimpse of departing friends ; some had come 
from off the vessel, and lingered, calling out parting greet- 
ings and good-byes to loved ones; the usual idle onlookers 
were also present. 

The chief officer had mounted to his position; there 
were but fifteen minutes before the last line must be cast 
off. Already the officer of the dock had stationed his men 
at the different lines. The fiery little tugs, like fierce 
demons, were beginning to shriek out their shrill signals. 

The Captain took out his watch and, after studying it 
for a moment, turned and looked anxiously toward the 
door at the entrance of the dock. 

At the eleventh hour he had received orders to reserve 
the finest suite on the vessel, with as many adjacent suites 
as he could command; and the order having come from the 
official head of the company had convinced him that a party 
of unusual importance was coming aboard. 

Ten minutes remained and he was beginning to grow 
somewhat uneasy, when a carriage dashed down the drive- 
way of the great shed, closely followed by a second. 

In the excitement of the late and hurried arrival, no 
one noticed that two men, in ordinary civilian dress, had 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 245 

immediately detached themselves from the waiting crowd 
and took their station on either side of the door of the first 
carriage, while a third stepped up to the door on the opposite 
side. 

One of the men opened the door and Alfred Raymond 
descended and walked toward the gangway which remained 
let down. As he stepped upon the plank a party of men 
descended from the second carriage and followed him 
aboard the ship; they were John of Ainhault, Col. Miron, 
Sir Isaac Davis and the attendants who were waiting upon 
the dock when the two carriages had arrived. 

As Alfred came upon the deck of the vessel, at a sign 
from Col. Miron, a man moved quietly forward and mur- 
muring a low, “This way, Sir,” led the way to the great 
salon, the doors to which were flung wide apart. 

As they approached the door of the suite that was to 
be his upon the voyage, another man quietly opened the 
door and saluted as he passed through alone, then closed 
the door behind him. 

Upon entering the luxurious suite an attendant stepped 
forward to relieve him of his hat and coat which he had 
thrown over his arm. 

He seemed as if moving in a dream. The tragic events 
of the past few days had followed so closely upon each 
other that they had served to keep him in a state of con- 
tinued bewilderment. 

When the subject of crossing the ocean had been 
broached, they had informed him that the two great iron- 
clads, which were then lying in the harbor, were ready to 
convey him across ; adding that, as the Imperial Prince and 


246 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

heir to the throne, he should travel as befitted his rank and 
station. 

Reared in the most democratic of countries, and the 
most perfect freedom, the idea was to him most distasteful, 
and he at once vetoed the arrangement; when they tried to 
reason with him he had most emphatically settled the ques- 
tion under discussion by saying that unless he could travel 
as a private citizen, without any unnecessary show, he would 
decline leaving the American shore; which circumstance 
had necessitated the changing of the entire plan at almost 
the last hour. 

As the man stepped forward Alfred raised his eyes. 

The man saluted; that strange salute again. 

“ Your Highness/' 

Alfred stopped him with a quick gesture. “ You are 
here ” 

“To serve you, Sir," was the reply. 

“ I shall not need you," was the calm rejoinder. “ I 
will serve myself ; you may go." Then he added more 
kindly, for the espionage which had been set upon him, 
and which he had begun to feel, was beginning to gall him, 
“ I will call if I want you." 

He waited until he heard the man depart by an inner 
door, then, hastily laying down his hat and coat, he fol- 
lowed and bolted it; then returning, securely fastened the 
main entrance. 

The man on duty without, hearing the bolt shot in the 
socket, and feeling troubled, sent for Col. Miron, and re- 
lated the circumstance; in the meantime the attendant 
whom Alfred had dismissed, appeared and told what had 
transpired inside; both men then awaited orders. Receiv- 


My Land. My Country . My Home. 247 

ing them, the one attendant departed, while the other 
lingered upon the divan near by seemingly busied in reading 
a paper; Col. Miron taking a position at one of the windows, 
idly watched the great liner being swung slowly out from 
her dock by the fussy little tugs. 

Alfred, in the meanwhile, had thrown himself upon a 
couch, his face buried in his folded arms; how long he 
lay there he did not know; from his deep dejection he was 
roused by a strange feeling. He sat up, and looked idly, 
vaguely around ; for a few moments he seemed almost un- 
able to collect his scattered thoughts. 

That strange sensation was continuing now, more pro- 
nounced than before. What was it? It seemed to thrill and 
vibrate in all around him. It began to take on a steadiness 
like a pulsation, something almost like a great heart throb, 
then something like the rush of blood through the veins 
and arteries, something that seemed like life itself flowing 
all about him. What was it? He looked about him; this 
strange room, it looked like a room on board ship ; he could 
see through an open door a beautifully appointed sleeping 
room. Why this must be a ship. What was he doing on a 
ship ? 

Then his mind went back to the theatre, the dim, ob- 
scure lights, the low sobbing of the orchestra; he could 
hear it now in the way that steady breathing and throbbing 
continued. 

Out there was his mother, and he was singing to her. 
Oh, how his throat ached. His mother? Something cut 
him like a hot blade. His mother was dead, and he could 
hear the words, “That man is yourself.” He? What did 
they mean ? They said that he was the Crown Prince, the 


248 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

son of the Emperor; he laughed aloud at the ridiculous- 
ness of such a thing. At the sound of his own wild laugh 
he came back to consciousness. That throbbing. That 
trembling. What was it? Ah, he knew. It was the pro- 
peller of the great vessel beating, beating, and at every turn 
they were carrying him farther and farther away from his 
home, his friends, his all. 

He must stop them ! He must go back ! It was all a 
mistake. A great mistake! He would tell them. 

Hastily he snatched up a cap and thrust it upon his 
head. What transformation is this? The face is flushed. 
The eyes glow and burn. The cap is pressed far back from 
the broad white forehead and beautiful gold-brown hair. 
Ah ! How like the boy of old. Eager. Expectant. Hurry ! 
Hurry ! 

Across the room he rushed, shot back the bolt, tore 
open the door and rushed across the great salon toward 
the door. As he approached, the leaves slid back as if 
moved by some invisible hand. 

With a quick, springing step, like the boy of old, he 
darted across the broad deck to the rail. For a moment 
he stood transfixed; then he leaned forward, out, out, his 
arms far stretched, all his soul in his eyes, his hands held 
out in piteous appeal, as he saw the shore slowly slipping, 
slipping farther away; then out over the dark, turbid waters, 
broke the saddest cry that ever welled up from human 
throat. “ My Land ! My Country ! My Home ! ” 

Some passengers standing near heard the low, bitter, 
passionate cry, and looking in that direction, saw only a 
group of men standing idly near the rail ; but they did not 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 249 

see that bending form as it leaned far out with outstretched 
hands and arms. 

Farther, farther away, receded the land; farther and 
farther, until only a dark line was visible. 

Slowly the outstretched arms sank; lower, lower, then 
the hands touched something that was soft ; something that 
was warm. 

Alfred looked down. An arm rested along the rail 
before him. Now he could feel his left shoulder pressing 
against something that throbbed, that thrilled with life. He 
turned his head. Col. Miron was standing, his left side 
against the heavy rail of the vessel with his left arm resting 
upon it, but the face of the old warrior was turned straight 
to the front, with fixed, unseeing eyes. 

As the scarred old veteran stood there and felt that 
splendid young body resting almost in his arms against 
his great heart, all the soul of him went out to that grand 
young life that now throbbed and quivered with its untold 
agony, and that now must touch his so closely; and from 
the depths of his heart he vowed fealty toward this, his 
new found Prince. 

Alfred stepped slowly back from the rail, and, as he 
saw the group standing around, and the grim figure and 
position of Col. Miron, a dark flush burned for a moment 
against the pallor of his face. 

Slowly he retreated until he reached an iron pillar that 
supported the roof of the deck ; there he stopped, and lean- 
ing lightly against it, he watched, with dull, somber eyes, the 
dim receding line of land that was fast disappearing from 
view. 

The minutes slipped by and grew into hours, and still 


250 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

he lingered; darkness came and shut out the view, still he 
moved not. Some strolling passengers wondered at the 
dark, silent figure, but no one addressed him. 

At last a long, low sigh broke from his set lips ; a sigh 
that was almost like a moan. 

The land he loved, adored, had seemingly, with the 
darkness, slipped into the sea as into a grave; to him it 
seemed that it was no more; it, with the past, was gone; 
never to return. He felt infinitely sad; a sudden weari- 
ness came over him. He turned. “ Col. Miron,” the voice 
was low, scarcely above a whisper. Close at his elbow 
came the reply, “Yes; Your Highness.” 

“ I wish to speak to you.” 

“ I am at your service ; command me.” 

“ Will you go with me ? ” 

“ At your wish.” 

Alfred moved toward the brilliantly lighted salon. 
Again the great leaves of the door rolled back. Within, 
the great room was almost deserted. Thus proceeding, they 
reached the suite occupied by Alfred; the door was thrown 
open and they entered. 

As the door closed, Alfred turned to Col. Miron and 
said, “ Col. Miron, I feel that I owe you an apology; ” the 
other made a motion of dissent. “ Hear me out ; I will 
not keep you long. When I realized my position at the 
rail, why, why were you so near to me?” 

Those grand, golden-gray eyes were turned full upon 
the face of the old warrior, and there was that in them 
which forbade evasion. 

“ I thought , I thought ” 

Alfred’s head was held proudly erect, nor once did his 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 251 

eyes falter though a slight flush burned upon his cheek as 
he said, “ Col. Miron, remember that the son of my mother 
can never be a coward.” 

Miron bowed low. 

“ And now, as to the position in which I have found 
myself so suddenly and strangely placed. I have not yet 
accepted that position as fixed or certain. I cannot help 
but feel yet that there is some mistake, which I will not 
deceive you, I devoutly hope and pray may be true. So, 
until every doubt is removed from my mind, every un- 
certainty swept away, I wish to be treated as an ordinary 
citizen. The order of surveillance to which I have been 
subjected in the last few days, has grown very distasteful 
to me, and I wish it to cease ; see to it.” 

“ But, Your ” 

Alfred stopped him. “ All of that must stop. I will 
come and go among you as an ordinary passenger, as I have 
no wish to excite any undue curiosity, as the present course 
would do if continued. I will move in and among you as 
one of you; if at any time I desire to be left alone, I will 
let you become aware of my wishes, and above all, none of 
my words or acts must be allowed to excite any attention, 
or comment. You understand me? ” 

“ It shall be as you wish, Sir.” 

“ Thank you, Col. Miron ; and now I wish to say that 
I am sorry that I was so selfish as to keep you waiting so 
long upon me, as I did to-night, Colonel,” and he held out 
his hand as he spoke. “ Be my friend, for I need you.” 

Col. Miron stood for a moment, his face almost trans- 
figured, then he swung forward with all the grace and 
dignity of his years of honest, honorable, service, and, 


252 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

grasping that outstretched hand in both of his, bent his 
knee to the ground. Touching the hand to his lips, to his 
forehead, he then carried it to his heart as he murmured, 
“ My Master and my Prince.” 

A moment of silence, then the door closed and he was 
gone. 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


253 


CHAPTER XV 

Farmer Jim Beaton was busy down at the barn, trying 
to repair an old hay-rigging. It was fast approaching time 
to gather in the corn crop. While the weather had been 
fine for harvesting, there was no assurance that a cold, 
rainy season might not set in at almost any time, and, while 
it might not bring any disastrous results, yet could produce 
much confusion, and Farmer Jim always prided himself 
upon being, as he expressed it, “ Right forehanded.” 

So he was busily pounding and hammering away, when, 
in a little lull in the din he was producing, hearing his name 
sharply called, he stepped to the door to investigate. 

“ Jim,” called Mary Beaton from the front porch of 
the house, “ isn’t that John Raymond’s rig coming down 
the hill?” 

He looked long and earnestly. “ Looks powerful like 
it, mother.” Then, after a pause, he continued: “Yes, it 
is, and there’s someone with him ; a woman.” 

Mary Beaton rose hurriedly and, laying aside her 
work, hastened down the walk toward the front gate, con- 
siderably agitated. 

“ A woman ! Jim. You don’t spose it’s ” 

“Margaret?” said he, finishing her question. 

“ Yes.” 

“ No, mother,” he replied. 

“ But Jim, you know his people are all gone, and I 
never knew him to drive out with any woman before ” 


254 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

she was growing more and more agitated. “ Jim, you don't 
think he has gone and " 

“Married again? No," said he. “He could not do 
that, as he does not know whether Margaret is living yet 
or not, and John is not the man to put himself in any such 
position, especially since, since ” 

“ Yes, Jim; I know." Meanwhile the wagon was com- 
ing nearer. Both were watching it intently, now silent with 
wonder and their own thoughts. 

By this time they were able to recognize the dark 
features of John Raymond, but it was not John they were 
looking at. 

Mary Beaton trembled in every fibre of her being. 
Jim grew slowly pale beneath the tan of his honest, kindly 
face. 

Who was this fair-haired, blue-eyed girl that made 
them think so of Margaret Raymond? 

John Raymond was lifting her do\^n ; then she turned 
toward the wondering, waiting woman. 

The warm October sunlight filtered down through the 
highly-colored leaves overhead, and fell upon the beautiful, 
pale face. 

Mary Beaton saw the beautiful new church again, the 
light from the rich, stained-glass windows; she heard the 
great organ, then she heard a baby voice say “ Awfed," 
she felt a little baby form clasped close to her heart, a little 
baby hand pressed to her lips, then, “ Jim! Jim! It’s Mar- 
garet, little baby Margaret.” 

She held out her arms. “ My little one! Come! Oh, 
I have waited so long! Thank God! Oh, thank God!" 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 255 

And the fair head was pillowed upon that desolate, aching, 
loving heart. 

After a little, Mary Beaton lifted her up and, holding 
her off at arms’ length, gazed long and earnestly, then she 
said, “ My little girl ! My little girl ! ” Then she added, 
as she half turned her toward her husband, who had re- 
mained motionless, “ Go to him, dearie, go to him, we have 
waited so long, and we have been so lonely.” 

Margaret Raymond, fair as a lily, artless as a child, 
went to him, and folding her beautiful arms around his 
neck, laid her head upon his breast. And as his great arms 
enfolded her, Jim Beaton kissed the fair, white brow that 
lay so near his face, and thought of the boy who had lain 
there so long ago. 

“ I asked my father to bring me over,” Margaret was 
saying, “ I wanted to see you so much, and I thought maybe 
you would let me ” 

“ No,” said Mary Beaton. “ We are not going to let 
you anything, but we are going to keep you, keep you just 
as long as we can; aren’t we, Jim? ” 

To which he gave a hearty assent. 

After the tea things were cleared away and John Ray- 
mond had departed, for he had refused to stay, as he said 
that he could not be away from home long at that time, 
Jim called Margaret to him and asked her to go with him. 

Throwing a light wrap over her head she went. 

Down to the corner of the bam he led her, and then 
he pointed out the line of a little path that had long since 
passed away, down across the great meadow to the old 
rail fence; and he told her of the little boyish form, and 
white bared feet that had trodden that path so long ago, 


256 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

until it had worn a path into the gateway of their hearts, 
which neither time nor death would fade. 

Mary Beaton was sitting on the front porch of the 
house watching, when she saw that slender, girlish form 
start away from the side of the silent man. Slowly the 
young girl made her way down across the great meadow, 
the new Shep walking slowly beside her. 

On she went, almost like one walking in a dream. 

Jim Beaton looked intently toward the old rail fence. 

What did he expect? Almost, it seemed to him he 
must see a bounding, agile figure come flying across the 
fence to meet that slowly-moving white one. 

On she went slowly. At last she reached the fence and 
stopped, and leaning her arms upon it, gazed long and 
earnestly toward the distant wood. The dog lay at her feet 
and waited. 

Twilight gathered as the moon rose gloriously full 
above the eastern hills, bathing the scene in a beautiful 
opaline light. 

Mary Beaton came down from the porch and stood 
by the gate; then she called, low and clear, the light, still 
air carrying with wonderful clarity. 

“ Margaret, won’t you come now? We want you, Jim 
and I ” 

Back across the meadow she came, a beautiful, ethereal 
figure in the moonlight, the dog at her side. 

Upon the porch, her head lying against Mary Beaton’s 
knee, her hand clasped close in Jim Beaton’s great palm, 
she told them the story of Alfred and her mother from the 
time they disappeared from Bentwell. When she came to 
that part of the story beginning with the night at the opera, 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 257 

and what followed, Jim Beaton reached down and lifted 
her slender, quivering form up to the old settee and held 
her close clasped to him. 

When she told them who Alfred was and where they 
had taken him, he could not repress a groan. Mary Beaton 
sat stunned and speechless, her heart slowly breaking, as 
her soul agonized for the child of her heart, now more lost 
to her than before, and upon whose head the storms of life 
were beating with greater fierceness and malignity. 

Life at the old Beaton home flowed on in its calm, 
tranquil way. Margaret very quietly and easily slipped 
into its calm and gentle course, and gradually began to 
recover her usual buoyant spirits; while her happy laugh 
had ceased, her cheerful disposition began to assert itself, 
so that she soon became like a sweet smelling odor, a 
delicious influence, and a happy presence. 

One day, while sitting with Mrs. Beaton in the sitting- 
room, the latter said, “ Tell me, Margaret, who was this 
John of Ainhault, that you spoke of? What was he to 
Alfred that he should be chosen for such an important 
errand? For I take it from what you said that he was 
somehow in charge. ,, At the mention of that name, Mar- 
garet Raymond felt a warm glow steal up over her fair 
face, and the older woman, who was looking toward her, 
saw that flush and wondered. 

“ As I understand it,” said Margaret in reply, “ John 
of Ainhault is the only son of the Emperor’s dead brother, 
the Archduke John.” 

“ Then this John of Ainhault is an own cousin of 
Alfred?” 


“ Yes.” 


258 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ Are there any others ? ” 

“No; for John of Ainhault is an only child of his 
parents, and Walther’s son, whom he tried to place upon 
the throne, was also an only son.” 

“ So that in case of anything happening to Alfred, this 
John of Ainhault would be next in line for the succession 
to the throne,” said Mrs. Beaton. 

“ Yes,” said Margaret. “ But what could happen? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; I was only wondering.” 

“ But,” persisted Margaret, “ I know that nothing will 
happen, for he, John of Ainhault, promised me that he 
would hold himself accountable for Alfred’s safety; and 
I know that I can trust him.” 

Mary Beaton changed the subject and soon the matter 
seemed to have been forgotten, but she pondered it long 
and silently later. 

A few days later Margaret took her way adown the 
great meadow and crossing the rail fence, wandered slowly 
up along the little singing brook, beside which Alfred had 
gone so often in the days gone by. 

The winding way through the woods was easily fol- 
lowed from the natural opening of the trees, so that walk- 
ing through the rustling leaves, she soon came out upon 
the south side. Coming near the barn she stopped, but 
seeing no one, she passed by and made her way out to the 
main road beyond the house. 

Long and earnestly she looked, but no recollection came 
to her of her childhood days, she had been too young to 
remember aught of them. 

In company with Jim and Mary Beaton she went to 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


259 


the church at Bentwell, and then Mary Beaton told her the 
story of the great festival and Alfred. 

Thus many happy as well as tender memories were 
recalled, each relating something of the past that was most 
dear to all, and in this way Margaret came to a deeper and 
fuller knowledge of the mother who had gone on, and of 
the brother from whom she seemed now more irrevocably 
separated than she had been before. And Jim and Mary 
Beaton, living over the old, sweet life again, came to love 
this gentle, beautiful girl, with a love second only to that 
they had given to him, the son of their hearts; for what 
mattered it to them that he was the son of the mightiest 
ruler in all Europe; he was the child God had sent them, 
and as such they loved and cherished his memory, and for 
the son of their love they prayed that God would guide and 
sustain him through the bitter trial to which He had called 
him, and give him victory at the last. 


26 o 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


CHAPTER XVI 

In the bright light of the early morning, Alfred stood 
near the rail of the vessel, his grand gray eyes somber and 
heavy, looking out over the great expanse of sparkling blue 
water. 

After Col. Miron had left him the night before, with 
his accustomed habit, he had prepared himself to retire. 
The early training he had received was now of wonderful 
benefit. Quietly and methodically he made his preparations 
for the night, and, at last switching off the light, he slowly 
sank to his knees, but no thoughts came to him; after a 
little he arose and laid himself upon the luxurious bed, but 
no sleep came to his overwrought body and mind. 

As he lay there in a kind of cataleptic state, his whole 
life passed before him. The acute agony of him seemed 
stunned. Then before him came the wonderful words of 
Frienii Nathan Arnold. “ Dishonor not the mother who 
bore you, belie not the mother who reared you.” 

The mother who bore him. The mother who bore him. 
How those words came up before him now. “ It was 
neither in sin or shame that she conceived you.” 

What must she have been like, this mother who bore 
him ? Back came the answer, “ The chosen instrument in 
the hands of God to do His Divine Will.” 

A great calm seemed to possess him. Then his thoughts 
moved forward. His father, the Emperor, and at that 
thought he turned cold. Did he not know, did not the whole 
world know what kind of creature he was? Had not the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 261 

whole world rung with the reports of his foul scandals? 
With the tales of his wretched cruelties? Aye, even with 
the vile treachery of him toward that beautiful Princess 
of the North, his Empress? 

He, Alfred, born of such a father? Born of such a 

mother? Reared by such a yes, such a mother? Yes, 

he could see it now; God had given him Margaret Ray- 
mond for a mother to rear and train him, just as truly 
as He had given that wonderful Princess of the North to 
bear him. 

Then he thought, with a pang, of his country, the 
country he was forced to forsake, her grandeur, her free- 
dom, her equality, her nobility ; for, was not every true son 
of hers a King and a Prince? Had he not learned it early, 
that wonderful saying, “ free and equal?” 

He was back again upon the plains of Arizona. It 
was night; and oh, such a night. Stars, millions of them, 
shedding that wonderful, soft, luminous light over all the 
velvety darkness beneath ; and out in that soft darkness, he 
could hear the soft sobbing and moaning of the cattle ; the 
fragrant odor of their breath; the smell of their clean, 
sleek bodies; in the soft luminous light he could see the 
ghostly gleam of their polished horns, as they tossed them 
fitfully in their restlessness. He could feel himself moving 
among them silent, watchful, alert, Golden Betty close at his 
elbow, or cropping the sweet grass close by; he could hear 
the rich, luscious tear of her strong teeth as she nipped the 
rich growth. He could see a dim, ghostly form approach- 
ing, another watcher, like himself ; the word of greeting, the 
friendly spirit, the vast prairie; the spirit of the West, that 
wonderful spirit that lives nowhere else upon the earth. 


262 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Then the rounding season. All over his splendid body 
he felt those little prickery, shivery feelings, just as he felt 
them when mounted upon Golden Betty, his head bared, he 
had dashed into the work with a zest that would not be 
abated, with a courage that bore down all before it. 

Then he thought of the land to which he journeyed; of 
its old, worn laws and customs; its dreary, threadbare 
rounds and forms ; its empty titles and useless ceremonies ; 
its heartless cruelties, and he who had been the freest of the 
free, the happiest of the happy, the gentlest and most loving 
of the loving, was going a prisoner, bound and chained to 
the inflexible iron wheel of destiny. Had he not already 
felt the galling of those chains? The journey had only just 
begun, and already they were about him on every hand to 
wait upon him and serve him, hand and foot ; him who had 
been as free as the birds of the air; ready to fawn upon him, 
to kiss his hand, to flatter even while they bound the chains 
tighter and still more tight. 

He had hoped and prayed that it was all a mistake, for 
there was the golden nightingale in his throat, now more 
beautiful and luscious than ever. And if it were not a mis- 
take, then it would be hushed forever as would the song of 
the nightingale be hushed when snatched away from its 
native freedom and rudely thrust behind cruel iron bars. 

Thus all through the night his thoughts ran on until 
with the early dawn he rose and passing into his bath, he 
hastily plunged into the cool, refreshing sea water. 

Greatly refreshed and strengthened, he put on a light 
top-coat and took his way out upon the deck of the vessel. 
The dark circles, like bruises, still showed beneath those 


My Land. My Country , My Home. 263 

beautiful, golden-gray eyes. The pallor still clung to his 
handsome face. 

Looking out over the sparkling water, about a mile 
away to the right, he saw another vessel going in the same 
direction ; watching it closely for a time he could see that it 
was of different pattern and build than the one upon which 
he was travelling; that she seemed to set down more closely 
upon the water ; then he could make out the turrets and 
caught the glisten of the sunlight upon some polished sur- 
face; suddenly it came to him that it was a battleship. 
Then he remembered they had told him that there were two. 

Where then was the other? 

Slowly he turned and walked around to the opposite 
side of the vessel. 

There, about a mile distant to the right, was another. 

Again over him came that cold, deadly chill, and he 
shivered as with cold. 

He felt stifled, choked. Where was his freedom? Was 
he never to know it again ? For a moment his soul sickened ; 
the change was too cruel, too great. He looked about. A 
steamer chair stood near by. He looked and saw his own 
name upon the card. Surprised, he looked at the next and 
saw the name of Col. Miron ; he looked no further, but tak- 
ing up the heavy rug he seated himself and covered himself 
with it. For a few minutes a feeling of helplessness came 
over him. He wanted to rest. He wanted to think. 

Someone took the chair next to him. He neither 
turned nor moved. With heavy, unseeing eyes he looked 
out over the blue waves to the great iron-clad in the distance. 

The sun now high risen, gleamed brightly upon pol- 
ished steel and brass which sparkled in its rays, and often 


264 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

showed plainly to the eye as she ploughed her way through 
watery hill and valley. 

Many and varied were the conjectures as to who and 
what those strange vessels were moving so silently and yet 
so steadily forward with them. A spirit of suppressed ex- 
citement was abroad. But no one associated the white, hag- 
gard-faced man, with the tired, hurt eyes of a child, with the 
strange ships. 

The waiter brought him a cup of bouillon. He was an 
old colored man, the same who had served him in his private 
suite; he was a dear faithful old darkey; he hovered over 
him as over a sick child, he cajoled him, he wheedled him, 
he scolded him, he fed him, he soothed him ; truly hath God 
used the weak ones of the earth to confound the strong. He 
leaned down over him as gently as a mother over her child. 
The old gray head and the young golden-brown one almost 
touched. The old, wrinkled, black face, and the young, 
handsome white one for a moment rested side by side, a 
startling picture of age encouraging youth, weakness as- 
sisting strength. 

The old man was talking, crooning in his soft southern 
dialect. 

Col. Miron heard, and a grim look of relief went over 
his grizzled features. 

John of Ainhault heard, and his eyelids smarted as a 
sad smile flitted across his fine face. 

“ Bress yo’ chile, doan’ yo’ go a settin’ yeah all day. 
Yo’ jes’ wan’ a get up an’ go a walkin’ aroun’, jes’ a walkin’ 
aroun’. Come, suh,” and the old darkey leaned down and 
putting his slim old arms around the splendid young shoul- 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 265 

tiers, he fairly lifted him from his seat. “Uncle Jaspah done 
help yo’, suh.” 

Just at that moment the ship gave a lurch which partly 
threw them from their balance; quick as a flash, Alfred 
flung himself upright, and catching the frail old hands of 
the old darkey in his strong young ones he held him firmly 
upright, for a moment the dim old eyes looked with all the 
fidelity and affection of a dog into those splendid orbs above 
him, and Alfred Raymond looking down and seeing that 
look, a smile, like a moonbeam across the snow, flitted over 
his handsome face. 

As he held those old, bony, misshapen hands in his 
splendid strong, white ones, he said, “ Thank you, Uncle, but 
you mustn’t mind me so much.” 

“ Dass all right, chile, dass all right,” said the old man 
quickly, “ but yo’ Uncle Jaspah jes’ see yo’ ain’t a feelin’ 
yoself, suh, an’ yo’ Uncle Jaspah done see jes’ wot yo’ re- 
quiah’, so yo’ jes’ keep a walkin’ aroun’,” pushing him gently 
by the shoulder, “ doan’ yo’ go a settin’ down,” following 
him as he moved away, “ jes’ yo’ keep a walkin’ aroun’, keep 
a walkin’ aroun’ ; w’en yo’ lunch’s re’dy, all’ll come foh’ yo’, 
yes suh, ah’ll come foh yo’.” 

Alfred moved slowly away, hearing the old, crooning 
voice as he went and a soft smile played about his handsome 
mouth, softening the rigid lines that had begun to show 
there, while a tender, luminous light began to glow from his 
splendid eyes. 

The old darkey turned back and began to fold up the 
great rug, turning at times to note whether his charge was 
obeying his command and was keeping “ walking roun’, jes 
a walkin’ roun’.” Laying it down, he stooped and lifted up 


266 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the tray he had brought, and there lay a bright, new, shining 
silver dollar. “ Now wha’ dat dollah kum frum,” said he. 

“ Better keep it, Uncle,” said John of Ainhault, “ I saw 
him lay it down.” As he said it John of Ainhault made the 
sign of the cross and I know the recording angel was kind 
that day and did not lay that sin to his charge. 

“ Great people those Southerners,” said the man on his 
right who had been an interested spectator to the scene. 
“ Greatest people in the world,” repeated he without waiting 
for a reply. “ And those colored people, most peculiar thing 
I ever saw, no matter how much grown up their masters be- 
come, in their eyes they never are anything but the little 
babes they have tended and cared for, and loved ; yes, great 
people, can see it for yourself ; this fellow, evidently just re- 
covering from some illness, and that old darkey just hover- 
ing and domineering over him like an old mammy over her 
baby.” 

John of Ainhault nodded, but vouchsafed no reply, and 
let the conversation drift off upon other topics. Thus it was 
that the impression was formed that Alfred, in company 
with his old colored servant, was travelling for his health. 

At the lunch hour the old colored man found him lean- 
ing over the rail, looking back in the wake of the vessel, and 
going up to him he touched him lightly upon the arm, as he 
said, “ Yo’ lunch’s all ready foh yo’ suh, yo’ll done come 
now? En Uncle Jaspah’ll suhve yo’, yes, suh, Uncle Jas- 
pah’ll done suhve yo’ fin’ suh.” 

Alfred turned, a half smile upon his face, toward the 
old man. 


“ Well, Uncle, I’m afraid you’ll find me lots of trouble,” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 267 

he said as he placed his hand upon the old, bent shoulder, 
and moved off with him toward the salon. 

“ Ah, no, suh ! ” said the old man eagerly. “ But ah done 
see whaffo’ you’all bin a wantin’, you’all bin j is’ a little 
heaht-sick, yes, suh, jes a little heaht-sick, das all, das all, en 
Uncle Jaspah kno’ jes waffo to do.” 

So the icy strain being broken, he moved off with the 
old colored man who could no more help pouring out the 
sweetness of his simple old heart, than the blossom can help 
shedding its fragrance upon the parched air. 

After the luncheon hour, which he spent in his own 
apartments, Alfred spent some time wandering about the 
ship. During one of his rambles he encountered John of 
Ainhault, and accosting him he asked him if he would find 
Col. Miron and bring him to his suite. His request being 
granted, he made one or two more turns and then proceeded 
to meet them as appointed. 

The afternoon was spent discussing the country and 
situation of the same, to which he was journeying; he did 
not question much, his method being to induce them to dis- 
cuss ; he, by well chosen remarks, succeeding in keeping the 
discussion well in hand and in this way he was able to learn 
many more points than he would have, had he resorted to 
questioning, for John of Ainhault and Col. Miron did not 
always agree, but with great tact Alfred kept the discussion 
along the plane he wished. 

At other times he invited Admiral Sefton with one or 
the other; at others, Sir Isaac Davis; so he varied his ar- 
rangements; sometimes he met three of them, then again 
all four, at other times singly. 

The reason for this was that he knew he was going 


268 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

among a people who were strangers to him, almost, it 
seemed aliens, and his theory was that there was nothing, 
either simple or great, that would not be useful ; one of the 
principles of his life being expressed in the saying that, 
there was nothing so mean or small, but that he could learn 
something from it; knowing full well that knowledge and 
wisdom had never yet injured any man, while the lack of 
it had cost many a man dear. 

One day while standing near the forward rail, watch- 
ing the great iron-clad in the distance, which he had begun 
to accept with less irritation, the captain came near and 
stopped to speak with him, and while talking the leader of 
the orchestra came up and asked to speak; the captain ex- 
cused himself and turning to the man said, “ What is it 
Maroni ? ” 

“ You know, sir,” replied the man, “ that we are to give 
the concert to-night for the benefit of the Sailors’ Widows 
and Orphans Home?” 

“Yes,” was the reply. 

“ Well ! ” said Maroni, excitedly, “ we cannot give it! ” 

“ Cannot give it ! ” echoed the captain. “ Why ? ” 

“ Madame Metroski, who had agreed to sing the In- 
flammatus for us, has refused to sing, nor will she give any 
reason for not doing it, and as that was the best number on 
the programme, you can see in what an awkward position it 
leaves us.” 

A look of disgust passed over the captain’s face. 

“ D n those singers, anyway ! ” said the captain. “ I 

beg your pardon, sir,” said he turning to Alfred, “ but you 
see you not being interested in such things, you will pardon 
me if I say that you can scarcely appreciate the position we 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 269 

often find ourselves placed in at times ; and singers are about 
the most uncertain quantity I have ever yet met. Yes, sir/' 
continued he, “ they are more uncertain than the old Atlan- 
tic herself/’ 

Alfred smiled, but offered no reply. 

“ Well, Maroni,” continued the captain, “ what will 

you do? D n it! Haven’t I always told you not to 

put all your eggs in one basket? Are the programmes out 
yet?” 

" They are in the hands of the printer now,” was the 
reply. 

“ And is there nothing you can substitute? No one else 
who can do it?” 

Maroni shook his head. 

“ Is there nothing you can put in the place of it? You 
see,” said he, turning to Alfred who had remained an inter- 
ested listener and giving Maroni a chance to think, “ we 
usually give one good concert on the trip, and charge a 
pretty stiff price, the proceeds going to the Home for Sailors’ 
Widows and Orphans, and as we have done pretty well, why, 
naturally we wish to keep up our reputation, aside from the 
awkward position it places us in before the passengers, as 
nearly the entire seating capacity of the grand salon has 
already been sold. Well, Maroni, we’ll have to call it off 
and refund the money, and put the best face upon it we 
can, so I guess you’d better start now.” 

Maroni started away to do as he was bidden. 

“ Captain James,” said Alfred, “tell your man to wait 
for a few moments.” 

Surprised, the captain called to Maroni and asked him 


2yo My Land. My Country. My Home. 

to remain, then he turned to Alfred, a questioning look Upon 
his face. 

“ Will you walk back a little with me, captain?” said 
Alfred. 

They retired to a more remote part of the deck. Alfred 
then turned to the captain, and said, “ Captain James, tell 
your man to go on with his programme as if nothing had 
occurred, only leave the space allotted the name of Madame 
Metroski blank; tell him to proceed with the rendering of 
the programme just as he had planned; there will be some- 
one ready to give the Inflammatus at the required time.” 

Captain James was looking into that handsome face, 
and into those wonderful eyes, that seemed to be compelling 
him to do their bidding. 

As if impelled by some unseen power, he called Maroni, 
and delivered the message to the wondering man. 

After he had departed Alfred continued, “You know I 
am occupying Suite A.” Captain James bowed, speechless. 
“ Have a screen, a white one if you can get it, set up before 
my door so that it will not attract attention ; after the solo 
it can be removed. You will do this ? ” 

It was a question, yet Captain James knew it was a 
command that he could not refuse. 

“Also you will discuss the matter with no one ? ” 

Another question, yet the thought of refusing to comply 
never occurred to him. Then he saluted, and bowed low as 
Alfred passed on. 

Bewildered, he returned to his office and gave the neces- 
sary orders for the concert. 

Now that he was removed from the influence of those 
wonderful eyes, and that compelling presence, he began to 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 271 

be assailed by curious doubts. “ Who was this man ? What 
could he do? How could he assure success where failure 
threatened ? ” 

He sent for the purser. 

When the latter came he asked, “ Who is travelling in 
Suite A?” 

“A man by the name of Alfred Raymond; a South- 
ener, I believe,” was the reply. 

“ Anyone with him ? ” 

“ No, only an old colored man.” 

“ Know anything about him ? ” 

" No, only it seems that he was not very well when he 
came aboard, and come to think, the suite that he is occupy- 
ing was taken for that foreign party, and he immediately 
dismissed all of their attendants, and the only one he will 
allow to come near him to wait upon him, is that old South- 
ern darkey, Jasper, I think they call him. At a few times, 
I believe he has spoken with them upon deck; and I have 
been told that a few times, one or two of them have been in 
his apartments with him, but from what I can learn, their 
conversation has been chiefly concerned with the discussion 
of different nations and their policies, mostly from an im- 
personal point of view.” 

“ Nothing strange or seditious in that,” said the captain. 

“ No,” said the purser, “ the only odd thing is, that at 
times he seems to prefer to be left alone, and at such times, 
the old darkey seems to be the only one who can handle 
him, for none of the others attempt even to speak to him.” 

“ Odd, don’t you think so? ” said the captain. 

“ Well, yes,” replied the purser, “ for at such times I 
have seen him sitting for hours in his chair, well wrapped 


272 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

up by the old darkey, his eyes straight ahead, the saddest 
look I have ever seen upon his face, and never move until 
the old man will come around and force him to go, as he 
says, ‘walkin’ ’roun’, jes’ walkin’ roun’.’ ” 

“You don’t think he’s crooked in the head?” said the 
captain anxiously. 

“ No,” was the reply, “ but if I were going to offer an 
opinion, I would say that he strikes me as being a man who 
had sustained some terrifically painful shock, and for the 
time being, seems to have lost his bearings; and, while we 
may scoff at the idea, the old darkey, possessed of the pecu- 
liarly fine intuition of his race, seems to have been the only 
one who has had the power and ability to get down to the 
root of the matter; or, at least, near enough to it, so that 
he, in his poor, weak way, has been able to afford the re- 
lief that wiser and stronger ones have been unable to supply. 
For, as the old man was heard to say to him, he seems to 
be, ‘a little heaht sick, jes a little heaht-sick.’ ” 

“ Then you think the man is all right ? ” It sounded 
like an assertion, but underneath lay a question. 

“ Yes,” said the purser. “Of course, to many, his actions 
would seem strange, but, even though I know actually noth- 
ing, yet I find nothing to arouse any question in my mind ; as 
for the party, they have done nothing to excite any undue 
attention for one so large.” 

“For one so large?” said the captain. “Why, how 
large a party is it ? ” 

“ Between forty and fifty people,” was the reply. 

“ So many as that ? ” 

“Yes.” 


“ And their bills?” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 273 

“ Were all promptly paid when they came aboard, and 
while they make no lavish display of money y they seem to 
have plenty, for they stint themselves in nothing, and al- 
ways settle at once.” 

“ H’m,” said the captain. “Well, Mr. Jackson, I will 
tell you why I sent for you ; Maroni tells me that Madame 
Metroski has refused to go on with her part of the pro- 
gramme to-night, and ” 

“ Refused ! what the ! I beg your pardon, sir,” 

said the purser. 

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Jackson,” said the captain, 
“ swear if you want to, I imagine we would both feel re- 
lieved if we could get it out of our systems, and yet, it 
would not be the proper thing for you to indulge in any 
profane language, especially in the presence of your supe- 
rior officer,” said the captain, a merry twinkle in his eyes. 

“ But, sir,” persisted the purser, “ what will we do ? ” 

“ That is what I wish to tell you, and why I have ques- 
tioned you so closely about this man in Suite A. You see 
he was present when Maroni brought me word and heard 
the whole conversation. As I sent Maroni away to cancel 
the whole thing, he desired him to wait ; then he said to me, 
* Captain James, go on with your arrangements as if nothing 
had occurred ; only leave the space allotted to Madame Me- 
troski’s name a blank; and tell Maroni to go on with his 
programme, there will be some one provided for the great 
solo when the time comes/ Those are his words as nearly 
as I can recall them.” 

“Captain! What do you suppose he means? Wait,” 
said the purser excitedly putting his hand to his brow. “ Al- 
fred Raymond,” mused he to himself, “Alfred Raymond. 


•2/4 1/y La«d. My Country. My Home. 

Where have I heard that name? Let m — e t — h — i — n — k, 
A — 1 — f — r — e — d R — a — y — m — o — n — d. Ah ! I have 
it ! ” said he, bristling with excitment. “ I just recall it.’’ 

“ Recall what?” said Captain James much impressed by 
the excitement of the purser. 

“ The story of Alfred Raymond. What you have just 
told me has reminded me. It seems that Burgmuller, at 
the Grand Opera House, had some trouble with DelMere 
over Schelmendauer. She had refused to go on with him. 
It seems that the last time he appeared with her, he was 
disgustingly drunk, got so purposely to annoy her, for he 
was jealous of her popularity with the public; and being too 
cowardly to come out in the open, he took that method of 
putting her to a disadvantage; so, when she blocked his 
appearing in Faust with her, Burgmuller was, as the boys 
say, ‘ up against it ’ ; well to make a long story short, he 
dug this man Alfred Raymond up from somewhere, Heaven 
knows where, and the man did a most unheard-of thing, 
sang, the people said, ‘ like an Archangel/ ” 

“Are you sure that this is the same man ? ” said the 
captain anxiously. 

“Wouldn’t his manner assure you?” said the purser. 
“ Who but Alfred Raymond could give such an order? ” 
“Why is it, do you suppose,” said the captain, “that 
Maroni knows nothing of him ? ” 

“ Oh, Maroni never sees an inch beyond his nose when 
he’s on shore,” said the purser, “gets in among his own 
kind and never gets out and around where he ought to.” 

“ But why do you suppose he is off here on this trip ? 
Wouldn’t you think that if he were able to do as well as 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 275 

you say he did, that Burgmuller would have kept him on 
the job? I know Burgmuller, and he was never known to 
let anything real good slip through his fingers.” 

“ That explains the whole thing,” interrupted the 
purser. “ I remember making a remark similar to yours, 
and was told that his mother dropped dead from some great 
shock the day after that performance. Ah! That explains 
the man’s dejection. Captain,” said he, leaning eagerly 
forward, “ if the man’s anything like as good as they say 
he is ” 

“ We’ll teach Madame Metroski a lesson she won’t 
forget in a hurry,” said the captain with equal eagerness. 
“ Now, Mr. Jackson, not a -word, but if you hear anything, 
just insinuate that we have a trump card up our sleeve. 
Excite all the curiosity you can if anyone broaches the sub- 
ject to you ; but don’t you be the one to do much or the first 
talking. Look wise, and confident, and I am sure that we 
can checkmate any act on the part of Metroski. Above all, 
do not mention anything of what we have been discussing, 
and particularly do not mention a name; get on to the 
mysterious side, and the imagination of the people, to- 
gether with their curiosity, will do the rest. Raymond, as 
you call him, has asked for a screen to be placed in front of 
his door. Get one as near the style of the decoration of the 
great salon, white and gold, as you can. By Jove !” Said the 
captain, bringing his fist down upon his desk with* a re- 
sounding blow ; “ there’s the whole thing in a nutshell. 
Raymond himself is going to sing, he does not wish to be 
seen or known ; so he will sing from behind the screen. 
Good! That’s the best yet! Now, Mr. Jackson, you look 
out for the screen and your part, and I’ll look after Maroni, 


276 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

for ’twould be just like him to flunk unless he could see his 
singer right before his face and eyes. Well, for once he 
will have to trust to luck, even though he has asserted so 
often, that he ‘ will trust nothing he does not actually see 
and feel/ ” 

Whereupon the purser made his way back to his* office 
while the captain sent for Maroni. 

“ Maroni,” said he, “ when you come to the great solo 
to-night, I want you to take up the work without any hesita- 
tion whatever; and another thing,” said he, silencing the 
man’s objections with a gesture, “ I want you to play it as 
you never played .it before, for you will have such a soloist 
as you have never yet had.” Then as he ushered him out, 
and speaking loud enough to be heard by some passengers 
who were passing, “ Metroski may have a bad case of indis- 
position,” oh, the sarcasm expressed in that one word, “ but 
we can’t wait for such cases when we have one of the great- 
est voices that the world has ever heard, right with us. So, 
as I have said, do your best to-night, or you will find your- 
self looking for another job, and with no recommendation to 
do it with either.” So, eager as a school-boy, Captain James 
bundled Maroni out of his sight and hearing. 

The captain’s little speech had had its effect. Word 
had circulated through the great ship that Metroski would 
not sing. Considerable dissatisfaction was being expressed. 
But, said rumor, Captain James has someone else, better 
still ; I heard him say it. And listen, even Maroni does not 
know; Maroni must play without even seeing his singer 
Think of it. The terrible Maroni who has humbled many 
a great artist. Maroni who prides himself on being master 
of the finest orchestra on board ship anywhere in the world. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 277 

And so the rumor ran. 

“ Is it so, Mr. Jackson? ” But the purser only smiled 
knowingly, and remarked, “ Oh, the people will not lose 
by the exchange.” . Or, “ Oh, Captain James has many 
things good, bad and indifferent stowed away on board ship, 
and when had Captain James offered them anything but that 
which was good ? ” 

John of Ainhault and Alfred were sitting out upon the 
deck, well wrapped against the cool October winds. 

He had heard the rumors, and recalling the story of 
Burgmuller, his suspicions were aroused. Several times he 
turned his face toward the silent form near him, but there 
was that in that silent, impassive face and still form that 
forbade any interrogation whatever; so John of Ainhault 
determined to be present at the evening performance. 

To say that he was greatly puzzled, would be putting 
it mildly. He had expected to find in that land he had 
been led to believe was inhabited only by uncouth people 
and barbarians, a man brought up in only at best, such 
primitive conditions as to be, quite necessarily, a rough, 
uncouth, and ill-bred fellow; but instead, he had found 
a man of such exquisite refinement and breeding as made 
him the peer of any man he, the Archduke, Iiad ever met. 
A man with a personality so great that no man dared to pass 
the line of exclusion with which he sometimes* surrounded 
himself. And John of Ainhault was sore troubled, for 
he knew what lay before. He would gladly have explained 
to him the terrible disposition of the Emperor, his father; 
for John of Ainhault accepted him fully as the Crown 
Prince and his cousin; but Alfred forbade any reference 
to that subject, whatever; and no man dreamed of the 


2 7 8 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


knowledge on that point he already possessed, and when he 
.spoke with that tone of finality, no man dared to disobey. 


The hour for the evening concert had arrived. The 
great salon was filled to its utmost capacity. 

Captain James was seated near to Maroni and the 
orchestra, near to a little wall cabinet which he had quietly 
unlocked. The purser was stationed at the door, taking 
tickets. 

John of Ainhault and his party took the seats reserved 
for them. One seat, Captain James noticed, was empty. 
Alfred Raymond was not present. 

Madame Metroski, closely veiled, was seated in the 
shadow of a pillar, not far from the door. The purser had 
recognized her. 

She had heard the rumors, and, burning with curiosity 
and pique, she had sent her maid, whom the purser had 
recognized, to secure the seat for her. 

The purser smiled grimly as she entered. 

The expectant excitement was intense. 

The programme began. 

Maroni was a master. Every man under him was an 
artist ; and the work of every man, whether singly or ensem- 
ble, was mechanically perfect, but a perfection that lacked 
soul ; it was the perfection of a fine instrument. 

The applause was generous, but the people were wait- 
ing, waiting. 

No one had noticed the screen placed in front of the 
door of Suite A. 

A lock clicked. The sharp click of it smote the 
intense silence almost painfully. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 279 

Captain James opened the door of the little wall cabinet 
and signalled the motion of the great screw diminished, the 
ship ceased to tremble and vibrate, she seemed to become 
motionless. 

He looked toward Maroni and sat down. 

Harsh, strident, compelling, the opening notes of the 
great composition, pealed through the great room, causing 
that crowd of waiting, expectant people to thrill and grow, 
cold. What was coming? What would it be like? 

Metroski bent eagerly forward, her. hands clenched 
until the nails almost cut the soft flesh of the palms, her 
breath coming and going in little short gasps. 

A cold perspiration broke out all over Maroni ; suppose 
the promised singer should fail ; suppose there were no 
singer at all; how would he ever be able to hold up his head 
again? It was the greatest test of his life. 

Captain James had grown visibly paler. 

John of Ainhault waited, calmly confident, longing, 
yet dreading to hear that glorious voice again. 

Alfred, standing behind the screen, heard those fierce, 
strident notes. He saw the beautiful new church of hi?, 
boyhood days. The great viol was sinking down, down 
through those splendid cadences, and he saw the little sis- 
ter Margaret stretch out her dear little baby hand to him. 
He saw his mother and the little baby sister. Now he heard 
those peculiar, fluttering notes. His throat ached, ached;, 
his chest throbbed, throbbed; they were coming nearer,, 
nearer : he turned to meet them ; now they were all about, 
him. 


“ To Thy holy, to Thy holy care elected. 


280 My Land. My Country. My Horne. 

Maroni almost stopped; blindly he continued. 

Metroski sank back, almost fainting. 

Out over that eager, expectant throng floated a voice 
of such unearthly beauty, that the heart almost ceased to 
beat. The great salon and all it contained faded from 
view. What they now saw was a vast, dim cathedral ; dim 
but for the lights upon the altar. In that dim, religious 
light they saw a man’s form kneeling with outstretched 
arms and ^upturned face upon which the soft, subdued light 
shone dimly. The eyes were closed ; the face was white 
with agony; the agony of that mighty appeal. 

The voice ceased; the head dropped; the music was 
going on ; then the face was lifted again ; 

“ Thro’ the loved Redeemer’s dying,” 

Alfred Raymond was praying, and almost, methinks. 
that prayer must have gone to the foot of the throne of 
God itself. 

But hark! What was that? 

A woman’s voice was answering. A woman’s voice, 
freighted with agony, shame and remorse. 

“ Let me fondly still relying,” 

The beauty of the voice was indescribable. 

“ Let me fondly still relying,” came the sobbing tones 
of the woman. Metroski was singing the response; the 
effect was startling. Metroski’s pride had been laid in the 
dust; she was eating her camphor with her myrrh. 

The great solo was ended. A low moan went up from 
that assembly of people. Alfred Raymond had prayed his 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 281 

prayer. That incomparable voice hushed ; yes, hushed for 
ever. 

A death-like silence hung over that great company. 
Maroni lifted his baton to give the signal for the last num- 
ber. A woman's voice called, “ Oh, please, please ! ” A door 
clicked. Captain James held up his hand ; Maroni lowered 
his baton. The great screw moved. The great ship thrilled. 
The concert was ended and John Ainhault knew that Alfred 
Raymond in praying that prayer had sung for the last 
time. 

During the next afternoon, Alfred asked John o 4 f Ain- 
hault, with Col. Miron and Admiral Sefton, to meet him in 
his salon. 

After they had assembled he asked John of Ainhault 
how long it would be before they would arrive at their 
destination. 

“ In about three days,” was the reply. 

“ Have you sent any message ahead ? ” asked he. 

“ Yes,” was the reply. 

“ Admiral Sefton,” said he, “ can you communicate 
with your ships ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” was the respectful reply. 

The three were watching him with wondering eyes. 

“ Then I wish you to have them each to send a cutter 
alongside at a time when they would be likely to attract the 
least notice. John of Ainhault, I would like to have you 
to divide your entire company in two parts, neither to know 
who is in the other. Admiral Sefton will take one party 
with him, and you will take the other with you. Col. Miron 
will remain with me. You can easily see how that each party 
will think that I am with the other.” 


282 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 


“ But, your ” 

Alfred held up his hand. 

“ But, sir,” remonstrated Col. Miron, “ His Majesty, 
the Emperor, has commanded that we bring you with all the 
dignity due your rank as Crown Prince.” 

A dark flush stained the pale cheek of the young 
man. His head was held haughtily erect as he answered 
coldly, “ The wishes of the Emperor would carry more 
weight; his orders are nothing to me. You will do as I 
ask. I will arrange with you, Col. Miron, regarding my 
own movements.” Then seeing the looks of doubt upon 
their faces, he added, “ I am not yet satisfied that I am the 
son of your Emperor, and until I am fully satisfied, I must be 
allowed to have my own way ; have no fear, I will meet your 
Emperor. I have nothing to fear.” 

The face of John Ainhault was ghastly white as he left 
the room. What did he see ? What did it portend ? 

In the dim light of the early morning, Alfred Raymond 
and John of Ainhault stood upon the deck of the great ship. 
The face of the young Archduke was drawn and white, the 
other’s, dark and somber ; a moment they stood with hands 
clasped, then, “ until we meet in Carodina,” a few minutes 
later and the Archduke was gone with his party and Alfred 
stood alone back from the rail, Col. Miron standing at 
rigid attention in the background. 

Shortly after midnight of the day before, a cutter had 
put out from the liner, carrying Admiral Sefton, Sir Isaac 
Davis and their company. 

The blue waters of the Atlantic sparkled in the chill 
October sunlight. The great ship forged ahead. In the 


My Land. My Country.. My Home. 283 

distance the two great battleships kept grim, silent watch 
on their steady march. 

Within, Alfred and Col. Miron remained closeted for 
some time, making their final preparations. 

Three days later the great vessel warped into her slip 
in the magnificent city of Carodina. 

Col. Mirorp walked slowly down the gang-plank to the 
dock and met John of Ainhault with Admiral Sefton; he 
saluted. “ You are to proceed to the Imperial residence with 
your party by way of the Avenue Meuneur, to the principal 
entrance ; in the confusion we will slip away and go by King 
street to the private entrance on the north.” 

So quickly and so well were the instructions carried out, 
that in plain sight of the waiting throng, while the great 
cavalcade swept away from the dock toward the avenue, 
they scarcely saw a closed carriage, containing a strangely 
assorted trio, Col. Miron, grim and gristly, a feeble colored 
man, decrepit and old, and a young man with a pale, beau- 
tiful face with grand golden-gray eyes, as it rolled away 
before their very eyes, and took its way toward King street. 


284 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


CHAPTER XVII 

Up the broad avenue swept the cavalcade, headed by 
John of Ainhault. A great crowd had gathered along the 
way to catchr a first glimpse of the Crown Prince ; the Em- 
peror’s own son. 

The story had travelled from mouth to mouth; no 
amount of threats could suppress it; even the press under 
veiled headings had gone as far as it had dared, to the end 
that the Imperial city of Carodina was seething from centre 
to circumference with a mighty interest. 

On they galloped. 

“ But how strangely they ride ! ” 

“ Why do they changes places so often ? ” 

“ They change places so often that it is hard to recog- 
nize even those who are well known.” 

“ Did you see him ?” 

“ Who?” 

“ Why, the Crown Prince, stupid ! Who else is there 
to see? ” 

“ No, did you?” 

“ Did he ride with John of Ainhault ? ” said a third. 

“ John of Ainhault ! ” said the first speaker. “ Where 
was he?” 

“ Why, at the head ! ” Did you not see him riding 
alone? ” 

“ Big Welter says, he wots he will come dressed in a 
blanket and wearing feathers in his hair, like — oh, like — ” 
said the first speaker. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 285 

“ Oh, you mean like an Indian.” 

“ Yes, that’s it; they say they are all half wild men 
over there.” 

“ Go too, you, Big Welter has made a fool of you.” 

“ Go to yourself.” 

And so the words ran ; not always friendly, not always 
threatening; yet, when the company had passed, no man 
could say that he had seen aught of the Emperor’s son. 

In the meantime the closed carriage containing Alfred, 
Col. Miron and the old colored man- was being driven rapidly 
along a quiet side street to the north entrance of the Imper- 
ial Palace, and, as the mounted company swept up to the 
main entrance with much noise and confusion, drew up 
before a small, inconspicuous private entrance. 

Ushering Alfred into a small ante-room, Col. Miron 
sought the groom of the household to ascertain which suite 
had been allotted to the use of the new Crown Prince, and 
it was with considerable emotion and feeling that he learned 
that he was to occupy the Empress’ own suite. 

Then under cover of the confusion of the party at the 
main entrance whiph had drawn the attention of the entire 
household thither, he conducted Alfred to the spacious 
apartments prepared for him. 

As Alfred passed into the room he stopped, a look of 
wonder upon his face. The ceilings were lofty and deco- 
rated with pale pink, satiny roses ; the walls were panelled 
with pale pink satin, while the feet literally sunk in a carpet 
of magnificent pink roses. All the furnishings were in pink 
satin and white, while the great windows were draped with 
rarest lace over heavy white shades with broad gold bands, 
which threw a soft, subdued light over all the great room. 


286 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Opposite to the main entrance to the salon, stood a great 
mirror, the frame of which, reaching from floor to ceiling, 
was of pure gold. Upon either side of it, hanging in 
straight, yet graceful folds, were heavy satin portieres of 
the same color and shade as the panelled walls. Every 
article in the room was of the rarest pattern, and most 
exquisite workmanship. 

Through a large doorway he could see a somewhat 
smaller room, the furnishings and decorations of pale green. 
The combination of the coloring and furnishings of the 
two rooms was wonderful. He stepped into the doorway, 
and through another doorway he could catch a glimpse of 
a royally equipped bed chamber, done in pale ivory white. 

He turned to Col. Miron, who was observing him 
closely. 

“ These rooms, Col. Miron? ” questioned he. 

“ Were the private rooms of the Empress, your 
mother,” was the low spoken reply. 

“ The Empress, my mother ? ” repeated he. 

“ Yes, Your Highness.” 

“ And why these?” 

“ The Emperor ordered it.” 

For a moment Alfred remained silent, then he spoke. 
“Are there rooms near for him ? ” indicating the old colored 
man, who had remained standing near the entrance to the 
salon. 

“ There are the rooms allotted to the Empress' personal 
attendants, which have been refitted for the attendants 
appointed to serve you,” was the reply. 

“ Have them and their belongings removed at once, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 287 

and give the rooms to Jasper; he is the only one I shall wish 
near me. You will do this for me?” 

Col. Miron bowed, and left the room with the colored 
man, and Alfred was left alone. 

For a moment he remained in deep thought. His 
mother, the Empress. What if it should be true after all, 
and he were the son of the Emperor? No, it was not true. 
It could not be true. He tried to shake off the feeling 
of oppression that weighed him down. He thought of the 
Emperor. That man his father? No! No! A thousand 
times no! 

Man? He was not a man! He was a monster! Did 
he not know the story of his life? A life so black and 
foul that all the world had shuddered at the mere men- 
tion of it. Had not all the world known of his bestiality, 
and the sad, sad tale of the beautiful young Empress? For 
deeds not half so vile as that, men had been hanged; and 
yet, because he was an Emperor, the world had cringed, 
and fawned upon him like a beaten hound. 

No! No! He was not the son of that creature, he could 
not call him a man; he would see him: yes, see him for 
himself, and prove to them that they had made a mistake. 
He knew it was a mistake, but he would pardon them, he 
would not lay it up against them. 

Upon an exquisitely wrought gold table, with priceless 
onyx top, near by, lay a little ivory covered prayer-book; 
it had been the Empress’ ; he took it up. The leaves fell 
apart ; the book opened in his hand. 

“ Out of the deep have I called unto Thee. Lord, hear 
my voice.” 


288 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ Oh, let Thine ears consider well, the voice of my com- 
plaint.” 

He read no further. An awful chill seemed to enfold 
him. What if it should all be true? He felt that he was 
suffocating. He wanted air, air. He went to one of the 
great windows, and flinging aside the rich lace hangings, 
he tore open the great casement and stepped out upon the 
stone balcony below. 

The sun was sinking in the west. The Imperial city 
was bathed in a rich golden glow. The waves in the harbor 
rippled and sparkled in that beautiful, golden light. It 
was a scene of surpassing beauty and splendor, but he saw 
it not. It woke no feeling of pride or elation in him. 

He had lived in a land of unrestrained freedom; it 
had been in all around him ; in the very air he had breathed. 
It was a part of himself ; it was life itself. 

There all had been light and brightness; here all was 
gloom, oppression, heaviness. There all had been life and 
vitality; here all seemed to him to be decay and death. 
There all had been a glorious advance; here all was stag- 
nation. There man had looked into the face of his fellow- 
man without fear or shame; here was all marred by the 
great blot of servility. Servility that bowed and fawned 
upon favoritism; and it oppressed him, it wearied him. 

The sun slowly sank behind the distant hills. The shad- 
ows of night crept on. Still he lingered. 

Within there was only a slight sound. The old colored 
man moving about, arranging his belongings. There was 
a low crooning sound. The old man was singing; little 
snatches of half- forgotten melodies; old bits of lullabys 
that had been crooned over the old cradle that had rocked 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 289 

his own baby form, by the old “ mammy ” who had “ gone 
home to Glory ” years and years ago. Little wild bursts 
of melody in that wondrous, peculiar tone that had in it 
the dank smell of the hot wild-wood ; of deep shades ; of 
black waters and mystic shapes; of untutored wildness, 
followed by decades. of soul-breaking slavery. 

Alfred found his wandering thoughts arrested and 
held. Then he began to follow and to understand. This 
old black man; he had been free, free; then had come the 
white man, and had bound him and carried him away to 
a strange land. Those splendid ebony limbs and arms that 
had never known restraint ; they had loaded them with iron 
shackles, until the iron had cut deep into the shrinking 
flesh, cut to the very bone itself where the scars would 
never be obliterated ; cut un-til the poison had gone to his 
very soul ; until every bit of pride, of manhood, had died, 
never to be restored. 

So they had come upon him, Alfred Raymond. They 
had thrown their deadly nets about him ; they had bound him 
body and soul, and had brought him an unwilling captive to 
a strange land. 

“ Ah’s de chile ub a King, 

De chile ub a King.” 

The old wavering voice was coming nearer, nearer ; it 
was at the casement. “ Yo dinnah’s suhved, suh; you ’ll 
done come now ? ” 

Like a child he came, that little refrain of the old 
colored man sounding so strange in this place. 

Later on he passed into the magnificent sleeping room. 
He contemplated the great silken bed, and recalling the 


290 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

words of Col. Miron, “ the private apartments of the 
Empress, your mother,” he called the old colored man and 
directed that a simple cot be placed at the foot of the great 
bed for his use. 

Later they brought him word that the Emporer would 
see him in the great throne room. 

Then, like a lonely wearied child, he laid his splendid 
form upon the simple soldier’s bed at the foot of the great 
silken couch that had been his birthplace, as it had been 
the bier of his sainted mother, and slept his first sleep 
beneath the roof of his father’s house; the strange weird 
refrain of the old black man, “ Ah’s de chile ub a King, 
de chile ub a King,” sounding so strange in this magnificently 
luxurious place. 


Simultaneously with the arrival of Alfred and his party 
at the small private entrance, was the arrival of John of 
Ainhault and his party at the main entrance to the palace ; 
who, having been preceded by a messenger, requested an 
audience with the Emperor, and was at once conducted 
thither. 

Upon being admitted to the Emperor’s apartments, 
he found him in a greatly excited condition. 

“Well?” said the latter harshly. 

It was both a question and a command. 

The pale, cold features of John of Ainhault flushed 
slightly at the savage remark, and though accustomed to 
the despotic disposition of his uncle, the Emporer, he now 
found himself unconsciously arraying himself upon the side 
of his new-found and ill-fated cousin, the Crown Prince, 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 291 

as he replied coldly, “ My messenger informed you of the 
success of our journey, and also advised you that we were 
bringing His Highness, the Crown Prince, with us? ” 

The Emperor bowed, but offered no remark. 

“ He has been conducted to the apartments of the late 
Empress, his mother, as your Majesty ordered. Miron is 
with him,” continued the Archduke. 

“ Miron ! ” exclaimed the Emperor. “ And where are 
Vladimer, Auerlo, and the rest of that horde? Are they 
not there also ? ” 

“ No, they were waiting in the great hall to meet him, 
but as he declined to travel in our company, they did not see 
him, and are, therefore, in considerable uncertainty concern- 
ing him,” was the reply. 

“ Declined to travel in your company ? ” exclaimed the 
Emperor. “ Miron is with him? Why is that? ” 

“ He is not yet fully convinced that he is your son, and 
until he is he has refused to assume any of the prerogatives 
of such a position,” replied the young Archduke. 

“ Oh,” sneered the Emperor. “ Rather high and mighty 
for the young upstart ! I expect that you will tell me next 
that he has refused to travel in the manner befitting his posi- 
tion, as I had commanded.” 

“ He did,” replied John of Ainhault coldly. 

“ What?” almost shouted the Emperor. 

The Archduke hastened to reply, “As I said, he is not 
yet fully convinced that he is other than Alfred Raymond 
and therefore has declined to assume any liberties, even 
those that were accorded him. He absolutely refused to 
travel upon Your Majesty’s vessels — ” The Emperor made 


292 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

as if he would interrupt, but the speaker went on, “ and 
came instead upon the great liner, the Empress Charlotte. 
When he came on board the vessel in New York harbor, he 
dismissed all of Your Majesty’s attendants and was waited 
upon by an old colored man whom he picked up on board 
the ship.” 

“ Dismissed, well, by the — !” ejaculated the Emperor, 
quivering with rage, but the other interrupted him again, and 
he found himself compelled to listen, for some subtle change 
had gone over John of Ainhault. When had any of his 
subjects or family dared to interrupt him before? The 
thought caused him greater irritation, but he of Ainhault 
was speaking, “ and while on board the vessel, he allowed 
Your Majesty’s party to approach him only when it pleased 
him.” 

John of Ainhault seemed to find considerable enjoy- 
ment in relating the circumstances of the trip, minutely, and 
continued, “ Shortly before we arrived in Carodina he 
directed that I take one part of the party and board one of 
Your Majesty’s battleships, while Admiral Sefton take the 
remainder and board the other, himself and Col. Miron 
remaining on board the Empress Charlotte until she reached 
port.” 

“And you let that young whelp ?” shouted the 

Emperor. 

“ I obeyed the commands of the Crown Prince, your 
son,” was the hot reply, “ and obeying his wishes,” John of 
Ainhault spoke with stinging clearness, “ I brought my 
company away, while he, with Col. Miron and his old attend- 
ant, slipped through the crowd without being seen by any 
one. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


293 


“ Don’t wish to be seen ? Hey ? Well I’ll show him up ! 
The boor ! The lout ! I’ll ! ” 

John of Ainhault flushed scarlet and made as if to 
reply, but the Emperor, now thoroughly infuriated, held up 
his hand and compelled him to be silent. 

“ Don’t wish to be seen ? ” continued the Emperor, 
“ Good ! Good ! I’ll humble his impudence for him ! I’ll show 
him who is the Emperor ! ” Then suddenly breaking off he 
added, “ to-morrow in the throne room, at three, I will see 
him.” 

The young Archduke looked startled. 

“ The Crown Prince’s company will be there in full uni- 
form, and you will be in command. Col. Miron will com- 
mand the Imperial Guard. Admiral Sefton will command 
the Marines. We will show this young upstart who is 
master here. Send Miron to me.” 

John of Ainhault saluted and departed, and the Em- 
peror was alone with his thoughts, and they stung him 
afresh. Again had he been defied, and by this son of hers, 
his beautiful, disdainful Empress. He was his son also and 
he would break him as he had broken Raoul, the supposed 
Crown Prince. Disobeyed his orders? He, the mightiest 
ruler in the whole world, whose slightest wish was law ? He 
would show this young upstart that he could not intrude any 
of the lawlessness of that wild country he came from, here. 
He would 

An attendant announced Col. Miron. “ Admit him,” 
said he gruffly. 

Col. Miron entered and saluted. 

“ You came from him, Miron? ” said the Emperor. 

“ I did, Your Majesty,” was the reply. 


294 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ John of Ainhault has my orders for to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow ? ” repeated Col. Miron, looking inquir- 
ingly at the Emperor. 

“To-morrow, in the throne room,” said the Emperor, 
“ I will see this creature. John of Ainhault will command the 
Crown Prince’s company; you will command the Imperial 
Guard, and Admiral Sefton the Marines. Neither yourself 
or John of Ainhault will see him again until you see him 
before me. You will see to it that he be informed that I 
will see him there at the hour of three to-morrow afternoon. 
He will be conducted thither, but will enter unattended. 
We will see if he will dare to disobey any of these, my 
orders.” 

Col. Miron remained to receive final instructions, and, 
being at last dismissed, withdrew, greatly disturbed in mind 
as to the issue of the coming interview, leaving the mighty 
Paul to the merciless lashings of an unfaltering memory. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


295 


CHAPTER XVIII 

In a noble apartment of Castle Ainhault, a splendidly 
palatial residence, second only to the Imperial residence 
itself, Miriam, Archduchess of Ainhault and Princess of 
Polen, sat waiting, alone. 

From its windows at break of day, she had watched 
the two great iron-clads as they steamed in and came to 
anchor, just within the beautiful harbor of Carodina. 

With the aid of a powerful field-glass, she had seen 
that a cutter had put out from each, and run quickly to 
land. 

Not long after, the great black hull of the gigantic liner 
hove into view, and slowly and majestically made her way 
into the harbor. 

That was some hours ago, and still no message had 
come. 

She was sorely perplexed. She had sent her ladies away, 
they troubled and annoyed her. 

Why had not John of Ainhault come? What meant 
this delay? 

She had been greatly annoyed over the entire affair; 
such an affair she had never known before. When the 
Crown Prince was reported to have been killed, she had 
been greatly relieved, for never had he been anything but 
a “ thorn in the flesh.” 

From his earliest infancy he had been spoiled and pam- 
pered by all, until he had developed into the most selfish, 
arrogant, and vicious young man in all Europe. 


296 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

She had known and loved his beautiful, saintly mother, 
and that he did not seem to possess one single trait of her 
noble, beautiful character, had been a great shock and dis- 
appointment to her; at the same time her sound judgment 
had shown her that the outcome could scarcely, in reason, 
have been different ; for, by the early death of the Empress, 
his mother, he had been placed almost entirely in the hands 
of unscrupulous and disinterested hirelings, to the end that 
he had been completely spoiled. 

Well she remembered the stormy scene that had taken 
place between the Emperor and herself when she had re- 
quested that the child be transferred to her home, to be 
brought up under her supervision and in company with her 
son. A scene that had caused a breach between her power- 
ful family, which was descended from the royal house of 
Polen, and the Emperor ; and but for the one fact that her 
own son was a descendant of the Imperial family, and the 
heir-apparent after the Crown Prince, she would have taken 
him and returned to her own people. 

And so it must be acknowledged that it was with a 
considerable relief that she received the shocking report of 
the death of the Crown Prince, for it removed the only 
obstacle to the succession of John of Ainhault to the throne, 
and at the same time promised to put an end to the out- 
rageously lawless party that had gathered around the Crown 
Prince, and which began seriously to threaten the peace of 
the Empire. 

When she had been made acquainted with the entire 
story of the Archduke Walther’s treasonable act, she had 
been shocked beyond measure. At first she had refused to 
believe it, insisting that it was a scheme of the Emperor 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 

and Walther to keep her son from succeeding to the throne, 
and so to that end she had denied the affirmation hotly, 
but finally, after having been convinced of the truth of the 
whole scandalous affair by John of Ainhault himself, she 
had, with great reluctance, given her consent to allowing 
him to take charge of the searching party that went out to 
that new and almost unknown country to find the real 
Crown Prince. 

Weeks had elapsed without bringing any word from 
the searching party and those behind were compelled to 
wait, and listen, and wonder; for already the wretched 
secret was out, and the Empire rang from end to end with 
the scandal of it, while the great world about was standing 
aghast at the shocking situation. 

To her it had been almost intolerable. The Emperor 
had shut himself up in his apartments and went nowhere, 
except upon affairs of state, and rumor said that the state 
to which he had come boded no good to the coming man. 

Later a message had arrived which announced that the 
stolen Crown Prince had been found, and would soon be 
brought back to his own country. 

When the message had been brought to the Emperor, 
he had gone into a furious rage, and for a time it was feared 
that he would have to be put under restraint, but gradually 
he had fought off the wretched attack and since that time 
had been more morose and sullen than before, seeing only 
those who were in immediate attendance upon him. 

And now the ships had arrived; and knowing all of 
the trying situation in all of its details, but receiving no 
message, had succeeded in reducing the Archduchess Mi- 
riam to a state that bordered nearly upon distraction. 


298 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

At that moment there came the distant sound of horse’s 
hoofs beating upon the ground, and moving quickly to one 
of the great windows, she saw a single horseman galloping 
swiftly up the avenue toward the castle. 

The man approaching was John of Ainhault, and sum- 
moning an attendant, and commanding that he be directed to 
her private apartments, she withdrew, and thither he found 
her a little later, after having removed from him the stains 
of travel. 

Silently, yet affectionately, he greeted her, for she was 
a proud stately woman, and leading her to a seat he asked, 
“ And my mother is well ? ” 

“ Your mother is well, my son, but was growing ex- 
ceedingly anxious over you and this wretched affair; but I 
find you, my son, much changed : what has occurred to put 
this heavy shadow upon your face? ” said she as she passed 
her hand across his broad, white brow. 

“ A shadow ? my mother,” said he. 

“ Yes, my son, a shadow. A mother’s eye is quick, and 
there are lines there that I never saw before. Tell me, my 
son, has it to do with this wretched affair? ” said she as she 
looked anxiously into his face. “ Tell me, my son,” said she 
speaking quickly, “ tell me of your journey ! Your message 
said that the lost Prince had been found ; yet I almost fear 
to ask of him; the whole outrageous affair has almost 
turned the world topsy turvy, and we start almost at a 
shadow, and I am beginning to tremble for the end.” 

“ Ah, my mother, and what will the end be ? ” groaned 
he. “ My soul sickens within me when I think of this man 
and what lies before him.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 299 

“ This man ! ” echoed she, “ what do you mean ? Whom 
do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean him, the man whom we have brought back 
with us; the most outraged man in the world to-day; the 
son of my father’s brother and my Prince.” 

“Your Prince!” exclaimed she, “what do you mean? 
Your Prince! This barbarian? Do you then believe ? ” 

“ Listen, my mother,” said he interrupting her, “I 
know what you feel and think, for I had the same thoughts 
and feelings. I also know what your ambitions were for 
me, but that could not be. I know that I am my father’s 
son, and heir to the Imperial Throne of Carona, also that 
I am a Prince of the Royal House of Polen, but royalty 
sits but illy upon my brow, and now that I have seen these 
people and this man ” he stopped. 

“ This man ! These people ! My son ! ” said she ; “ tell 
me, what do you mean? This man! You have found him! 
Tell me of him.” 

A deep silence pervaded the room broken only by the 
low voice of the man as he related his wonderful tale. 
When he came to that part of the story, the night at the 
opera, she became visibly agitated and interrupted him. 

“ Walther recognized him ! ” exclaimed she. “ How ? ” 

“ From the striking resemblance to the Empress, his 
mother,” was the reply. 

“And he?” she questioned. 

“ Is positively the handsomest man that I have ever 
seen,” said he. 

“ His mother, the Empress,” said she, “ was the most 
beautiful woman in all Europe; but tell me of him! He 
was singing, you say, Faust? His mother also had a beau- 


300 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

tiful voice, the most beautiful of any, aside from the great 
Gardoni. My son,* you are convincing me against myself.” 
Her doubts were fast disappearing. 

With white drawn face and stiffening lips he told her 
of the tragic death of Margaret Raymond. Of the agony 
of the man Alfred Raymond. Of the broken-hearted 
motherless daughter. He spared no part of the sad story. 
Minutely he pictured every detail of the parting scene at 
the home of John Raymond when he received his commis- 
sion from the lips of Margaret Raymond. 

“ And this girl, this girl whom you call Margaret Ray- 
mond — ? This girl whom he calls his sister? ” 

“Is the most beautiful woman that I have ever met,” 
said he fervently. 

His mother looked sharply into his face, but forbore 
questioning him further. 

“ But he, the Prince, how do you call him, Alfred? ” 

He bowed. 

“ How did he bear himself when you convinced him 
that he was the rightful heir ? ” 

“ We have not yet convinced him,” said the young 
Archduke. 

“Not yet convinced him?” echoed she. “Do you 
mean to tell me — ?” 

He interrupted her. 

“ Listen, my mother ; as we were leaving port upon 
our return, the tugs had drawn us far down the harbor. 
He had shut himself within his suite and dismissed all of 
his attendants. Evidently the great propeller of the ves- 
sel roused him ; he rushed from his room, across the great 
salon. Miron was near, and as he rushed across the deck 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


301 


to the rail Miron, who, like ourselves, thought that he was 
going to throw himself overboard, darted forward and 
thrust out his arm to stop him. As he reached the side 
of the sjiip the land was fast disappearing from view. 
With arms wide stretched out, and all his soul in his face, 
the saddest cry I have ever heard broke from his lips.” 

“ And that cry ? ” said she almost breathlessly. 

“ My Land ! My Country ! My Home ! And with that 
cry I think his heart broke,” said he, his voice tremulous 
and low. 

Miriam, proud, stately, and a royal princess, yet a 
true woman, wept bitterly. 

“ My mother,” said he, as he put his arms around her, 
“ I thank you for those tears ; now I know he, our Prince, 
has found another friend, of which he has only too few. 
You say you find me changed? I reply, I am changed. 
The old John of Ainhault lives no more, but a new John 
of Ainhault has risen, his life, his all devoted to the cause 
of this his new found Prince. But I fear, I fear greatly 
for him.” 

“You fear for him?” said his mother. “You speak 
in riddles.” 

“ Listen, my mother, I have a strange tale I would relate. 
Years ago, while my father still lived, I went with him 
upon a hunting expedition in the great forest of Polen. 
While working through the great woods the beaters started 
the most magnificent buck I ever saw ; it seemed impossible 
such a noble creature, and one so near perfection, could 
actually be real. He disdained to run, but turned and 
breathed out defiance upon us ; he trumpeted, he challenged. 
My father forbade anyone firing upon him, but desired to 


302 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

take him alive, so to that end he dispatched messengers to 
bring nets, great nets innumerable; they were brought. 
Then as we advanced slowly, he retreated, contesting every 
foot of the way; at last we reached a thick wooded copse 
which we surrounded; then we stretched the nets in the 
hands of the attendants and beaters with instructions for 
those who held the inner ones that they should release them 
upon him at the first dash.” 

“ Our plans were all well laid. The principal open- 
ings were well lined ; then the beaters began to work from 
the rear and sides. Suddenly, down the great avenue of 
trees he came. He was wonderful : such antlers. Such a 
head. A superb body ; he was, as I have said, magnificent, 
perfect.” 

“ Catching sight of the nets stretched out before him, 
with a loud defiant bellow he lowered his beautiful head 
and dashed into the first one : the keepers flung up the ends 
and let go; so with the second and the third; then the 
others held on and closed in around him ; although terribly 
hampered he fought desperately; at last they bound him 
until he could not move. All precautions were taken to 
keep him from injuring himself. We were elated; we 
had captured him ; taken him alive. We sent for carriers. 
Every precaution was taken; he was far too valuable to 
jeopardize in any way. Very carefully we carried him 
back to Polenda. We rejoiced greatly, greatly overjoyed 
at our success. We carried him to the great stable pad- 
dock, whose brick walls rise twenty feet in the air; there 
we loosed him, and hurrying from the reach of his blade- 
like hoofs and horns, we watched. 

“ With one mighty bound he reached his feet. For a 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 303 

moment he stood as if dazed; then a leathern shackle 
dropped from him to the ground. He looked down quickly ; 
gathering himself together he bounded high in the air, and 
drawing his polished hoofs close, he sprung upon the 
thongs that had bound him until he had cut them to rib- 
bons. Then he flung up his head and trumpeted. His 
eyes blazed with fury. The steam fairly gushed from his 
nostrils. He almost went mad from the indignity offered 
him. He saw the wall before him ; he wheeled like light- 
ning. Another wall; again he wheeled; a third, and a 
fourth ; he saw himself hemmed in upon all sides ; his fury 
grew ; then, with a splendid stately tread, slowly he backed, 
slowly until he had nearly reached the wall behind him; 
then, with a shrill bellow of defiance, he shot forward like 
an arrow from a bow. He disdained to leap ; walls should 
not hold him. With head bent low like a bullet from a gun 
he struck the solid masonry.” 

“ There was a crash as those magnificent antlers 
splintered like so many finely polished ivories, a sickening 
thud as that beautiful head crashed against the cruel, un- 
yielding walls, almost instantly we heard a low, gasping, 
sobbing moan ; a moment his splendid body swayed lightly, 
then fell to the hard pavement, dead.” 

“ My son!” ejaculated the Archduchess, who had lis- 
tened almost breathlessly, “your tale — ?” 

“ Is the tale of Alfred Raymond, Crown Prince of 
Carona and son of the Emperor Paul, only differing in 
that the magnificent stag that we captured could have 
escaped, at least he had a chance, whereas this man had no 
chance. We came upon him in the open in the guise of 
friends ; he came to us with his hand outstretched and the 


304 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

palm turned up ; as it were, with his guard down ; and we 
struck him the most cowardly, the vilest blow in the 
face — ” 

“ John ! ” she cried, as her face flushed with shame. 

“Yes, my mother,” said he low and bitterly, “we 
struck him the vilest, most cowardly blow across the face 
that one man could deal to another. We killed the woman 
who had succored and sheltered him; broke the heart and 
made desolate the sister who loved and idolized him ; then 
we bound him, body and soul, and tore him from the land 
and home of his love, and have brought him a hopeless, 
helpless prisoner to be made the scapegoat for the offences 
of the most wretched ingrate upon the face of the earth 
to-day ! ” 

“John! My son! What do you mean?” cried she in 
alarm. “ The Emperor — ! ” 

“ Is beside himself with hatred and fury, and upon 
the head of this innocent man he will pour out all the vile 
spleen his degraded heart and mind can conceive.” 

“ The Emperor will do this? ” said She. 

“ Yes,” was the reply, “ he has caused him to be 
housed in the rooms occupied by the Empress, his mother ; 
he deems him but a great rough barbarian and lout; he 
seeks to cover him with shame and confusion ; he refuses 
to listen to one word. He does not dream what manner 
of man he has to deal with ; nor does he, Alfred Raymond — 
I cannot think of him as other, and surely no other name 
graces him so well — have any idea of the Emperor’s 
antipathy toward him.” 

“ But,” said she, “ should not some one, you, yourself, 
go to him and tell him ? ” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 305 

“ Mother mine, you do not know this man, nor can I 
tell you of him beyond that he is his mother’s son, also the 
son of the woman who reared him, for his simple 4 1 wish * 
is mightier than the Emperor’s 4 1 will/ ” 

“ John ! John ! ” said she, grasping him by the arm, her 
face becoming pale with emotion, 44 you do not think this 
man will dash himself to pieces to his death against the 
iron walls of an inflexible destiny ? ” 

The face of John of Ainhault turned ghastly white. 
44 God forbid ! ” he groaned. 

44 You say the mother who reared him,” she was re- 
peating his words, 44 was a noble woman ? ” 

44 The noblest, grandest I ever met, next to my own 
mother,” he replied. 

She let the allusion pass. 44 The mother who bore 
him,” said she, 44 was the most saintly and noble woman I 
ever knew, and the only person who ever humbled the 
mighty Paul ; aye, humbled him in the dust. And mayhap 
her son — ” she ceased. 44 When will the Emperor see 
him?” questioned she. 

44 To-morrow, in the great throne room ; the Imperial 
Guard, also the Crown Prince’s own company will be on 
duty, the scene will be the most imposing the Emperor can 
devise; the Crown Prince’s company will be under my 
orders, the Imperial Guard will be under Col. Miron, and 
the Navies will be under Admiral Sefton.” 

44 And can nothing be done?” said she. 

44 Absolutely nothing,” was the reply. 

Long and earnestly Miriam, Archduchess of Ainhault 
and Princess of Polen, prayed that night for the unwelcome 
unhappy man who had been brought an unwilling son to 
his father’s house. 


3°6 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


CHAPTER XIX 

The wildest rumors were afloat. All Europe was 
standing, as it were, breathless. The shock of the tragic 
death of the supposed Crown Prince, then the startlingly 
shocking report of the Archduke Walther’s seditious act, 
and the exposure, then the report of the secret mission of 
John of Ainhault to that distant almost unknown country. 

Now the wires had flashed the news all abroad that 
the searching party had returned ; that the rightful heir had 
been found, and had come to his own. 

“ But no man has seen him ! ” said one. 

“ Yes,” said another, “ John of Ainhault has seen 
him, Col. Miron has seen him, Admiral Sefton has seen 
him, also the Archduke Walther.” 

“ But John of Ainhault has scarcely been seen by any 
man, while Col. Miron — , Col. Miron has been closeted for 
hours with the Emperor, and none had dared to question 
him.” 

“ And Admiral Sefton?” 

“ Admiral Sefton had nothing to say.” 

“Well, but there was Walther.” 

“ What ! Have you not heard ? ” 

“ Heard what ? ” 

“Why, about Walther?” 

“What then of Walther?” 

“ Why Walther has been banished to his estate of 
Rildorph and is a state prisoner there. While the poor 
unhappy Archduchess — ” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 307 

“Well, let Walther suffer! Had he not brought all 
this suffering upon a poor innocent lady? Let him bear 
the consequence of his treachery.” 

“ Yes, that is true; but speak not so loud, but ’tis said 
that the Emperor has not yet seen his own son.” 

“ What ! You don’t say so ! What a shocking state of 
affairs ! ” 

“ Suppose he should be anything like that wild bar- 
barous land from which he came; what would they do 
with him? Why, they would be the laughing stock of the 
whole world.” 

“ Then you have not heard ? ” 

“ Heard ? I have heard nothing. I have been at my 
loom, busy, all morning and have not heard. What is it? ” 

“ Why, the Crown Prince’s own company have been 
ordered to the palace.” 

“ The Crown Prince’s company ! ” 

“ Yes, and the Imperial Guard.” 

“ The Imperial Guard ! ” 

“Yes, and the Marines.” 

“ The Marines ! Now may the saints preserve us ! 
What are we coming to ? Why, he must be a wild man ! ” 

And so the wildest stories were told and retold, and 
lost nothing in the telling. 

Meanwhile, in the great throne room of the Imperial 
Palace of Carodina, a room barbarous in its splendor and 
magnificence, was being enacted a scene that almost defies 
description. 

Within a great stained oriel window at the north end 
of the room, under a magnificent canopy of deep electric- 
blue velvet, upon a slightly raised dais, stood the throne 


308 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

of the Emperor, while to the left, upon one slightly lower, 
was the ivory throne of the Empress Charlotte, which had 
never been used since the death of that unhappy lady. 

Upon such occasions as required, for Miriam, Arch- 
duchess of Ainhault, who stood next in line to the Empress, 
a small gold chair had been used; the Archduchess having 
refused to occupy the throne of the Empress. 

The Emperor, seated upon the magnificent ebony 
throne, was attired in the uniform of the Imperial Guard. 
Clasped to his shoulders, with great diamond-studded 
clasps and sweeping away in massive folds, was the great 
Imperial robe of deepest crimson velvet, lined with spotless 
ermine. About his waist was buckled, with a massive 
jeweled buckle, a heavily bejeweled belt, from which hung 
a matchless Damascine blade, with flashing diamond- 
studded hilt. Upon his breast blazed the great diamond 
star of the Imperial House, while upon a velvet pillow at 
his left rested the matchless jeweled Imperial Crown. 

In a great semi-circle from the left and right, and 
back from the throne, stretched a great body of statesmen 
and dignitaries gaily attired, and literally ablaze with the 
jeweled orders of their positions. 

Along the west side of the enormous room was 
stationed the company of the Crown Prince, with John of 
Ainhault at their head, a superb sight ; row upon row, their 
uniforms of purest white with belts of broad gold, with 
swords, gold epaulettes and lacings, glossy black hip-boots, 
black gauntlets, white helmets, with long sweeping black 
plumes, caught under the chin with a gold chain, they were 
almost incomparable. 

Face to face with them, over against the east side, the 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 309 

light from the great western windows streaming upon their 
scarlet and gold uniforms, long black hip-boots, gold hel- 
mets with white plumes, and glittering belts and swords, 
with Col. Miron like a graven image at their head, stood 
the Imperial Guard. 

At the foot of the two columns of men, or at the south 
end of the room, drawn across the full width, leaving a 
broad passage from the great golden doors, were stationed 
the Marines with Admiral Sefton, standing alone, imme- 
diately in front, and at the right of the passageway. 

In startling contrast, with not a gleam of metal or 
flash of jewel seen anywhere upon them, attired in deep 
soft blue with spotless white facings, they presented a 
sight rarely ever looked upon. 

As the bell in the watch tower boomed forth the hour 
of three, the great golden doors swung back noiselessly, 
and two pages dressed in scarlet livery entered, preceding 
a single black clad figure. 

Passing through the line of Marines to the open space 
upon the richly polished floor they halted just within the 
foremost line of men, and, turning, saluted, as that silent 
dark clad figure passed between them to the open space 
beyond. 

An almost breathless silence rested upon that vast as- 
semblage of men. 

Every man stood as if carved from stone ; not an eye- 
lash quivered. Every eye in that great company was fixed 
in a stony stare upon the wall opposite. 

It was a moment of painful intensity. Then a voice, 
clear and distinct, sounded over that great hush. 

“ His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Alfred.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


3io 


At sound of those, to him, empty sounding titles pre- 
fixed to his name, Alfred seemingly woke to life. A slight 
flush spread over his handsome pallid face. 

He lifted up his head and looking up the length of that 
great room he saw the scarlet bejeweled figure of the 
Emperor. 

As his eyes beheld for the first time that gorgeously 
apparelled form, over him began to steal the same feeling 
of antagonism that had come upon him when he had first 
met the Imperial party in his own house in New York. 

When the great doors were thrown open, preceding 
his entrance, with one quick searching glance he had seen 
the great array of troops drawn up in strict attention in all 
their glittering array. 

Now, in the hush following the announcement, he felt 
intuitively the hostility extended toward him by that scarlet 
clad figure upon the great ebony throne. 

They had told him that he was the son of this man. 
A sense of the awful unreality of it all came upon him, 
and in some way it seemed to afford him a relief. This 
man his father? Then all of this magnificence was his. 
He tried to think it, to realize it, but it woke no feeling of 
pride or elation in him. Suddenly he thought of the plains 
of Arizona. Her magnificent sweeps, her superb distances, 
her grand mountains, her gorgeous coloring; all, all; and 
in that remembrance his present surroundings became 
small and weak; cheap and tawdry in comparison. 

This man his father? Then surely father never met 
son in this wise before. 

Up surged the old feeling of resentment, of antagon- 
ism. With head held proudly erect, those grand golden- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 31 1 

gray eyes flashing fearless and calm, with all the old boyish 
freedom and grace, he strode up that great silent room until 
he stood directly before the great ebony throne. 

With a disdainful sneer upon his aged face, the haughty 
Emperor Paul ignored the splendid man before him, and 
continued to gaze with fixed unseeing eyes at the distant 
pictured wall. 

The hush deepened. The silence was becoming pain- 
fully oppressive. 

The nerves of every man in the great white-robed com- 
pany of the Crown Prince were stretched to their utmost 
tension. Not one had dared to disobey the strict orders 
that had been given, that not an eye should turn to look 
upon the new-come man until the Emperor should so order. 

The face of John of Ainhault was black with shame. 

Although the Imperial Guard was the Emperor’s own 
company, not a man among them but realized the brutality 
of the situation, and, although a stolid unbroken line, were 
beginning to become painfully uncomfortable. The face of 
Col. Miron looked like a graven grizzled sphynx, only the 
lids of the eyes half raised. 

Admiral Sefton and the Marines had not moved. The 
great bejeweled assembly of silk and velvet clad dignitaries 
about the throne seemed absolutely void of life. 

Alfred looked into that old haggard vindictive face, and 
studied the features intently. 

He had looked upon his own face in a mirror, and 
here he saw something that troubled him. A vague indis- 
tinct familiarity, as it were, the shadow of his own face, 
in part, but oh, so horribly disfigured by pride, hate and 
all manner of black filthiness. 


312 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


And this man, they said, was his father. He was 
beginning to fear that it might be so. 

But if he, this Emperor, were his father, why had he 
chosen to bring him before him in this manner? Why 
had he surrounded himself with this almost numberless 
cordon of armed men? Why all of this useless display? 

He looked again into those proud disdainful features, 
and for the first he began to become aware of the intense 
silence that hung over that magnificent room and gorgeous 
assemblage of men like a pall. 

Now he recalled that not a head had turned, not an 
eye had looked in his direction. 

Was it a plan? 

He had heard and pitied the implied sneers that had 
been offered to his country, his beloved Columbia, but he 
could afford to smile and be patient with these poor mis- 
guided people, they did not know her as he knew her ; they 
knew only their own weakness and decay, so they could not 
appreciate or understand the glorious freedom and life of 
his magnificent land. 

But why had they elected to receive him thus? Was 
it all prearranged? Was it done to humble him? In- 
voluntarily his head went up more proudly erect. To 
humble him? For what? He had not asked even to come 
to this their land. They had brought him ; they had used 
all manner of argument, closely bordering on coercion. 

His grand golden-gray eyes began to flash dangerously 
and give out little glints of green. 

The position and scene to him were only ridiculous; 
well they had created it, and he would terminate it. 

“You sent for me? You wished to see me? I am 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 313 

here. You will tell me what you wish of me and I will 

yy 

The words, simple, comprehensive, the tone calm, 
polite, yet cold, penetrated to every ear in that great com- 
pany. 

Every man present fairly held his breath. Never 
before had any one dared to address the mighty Paul with- 
out being ordered to do so. The present act was un- 
precedented. The Emperor was seen to struggle greatly 
to retain control of himself. 

“ You will do what?” Harsh, fierce, strident, the 
words burst from the now thoroughly infuriated Emperor. 

“ You heard all that I had to say, and it is not neces- 
sary for me to repeat.” Like the fierce cut of a lash the 
words whipped the air, and almost one could see their red 
stain across the livid features of the infuriated man upon 
the throne. 

“I heard all you had to say,” the Emperor’s voice 
rang out shrilly over the now thoroughly startled throng. 
“ It is not necessary for you to repeat ! Why, you boor ! 
You lout! Your cursed whelp of — ” 

“ Hold ! ” That one word rang out in clarion like tones 
and stayed the mad vile imprecation upon the lips of the 
half insane Paul. 

Every man present was horrified at the turn events 
had taken, and inwardly trembled for the issue. 

Alfred Raymond was going on, and every ear was 
strained to catch every tone of his splendid voice. 

“ I came not here of my own will or wish. Your 
attitude I do not understand, nor do I consider it of enough 
importance to attempt to even consider it. I have no 


314 My Land . My Country . My Home. 

wish to, nor shall I attempt to bandy words with you. A 
quarrel may be to you a source of great enjoyment and 
entertainment, to me it is simply disgusting.” 

The Emperor sunk back against the great carved arms 
of the throne, speechless. This was not as he had planned. 
With all the fierce vindictiveness of his undisciplined 
nature, he had planned to utterly crush and annihilate this 
man; and now at the very outset, he it was who was fast 
becoming stripped of every vestige of dignity and author- 
ity, and finding himself in the very position he had ar- 
ranged for another. He seemed fairly paralyzed, while 
the assembled men almost gasped with astonishment. 

They had been led to believe the common report of the 
land from which this man had come, and had fully ex- 
pected an uncouth, untutored, half-savage being; but in- 
stead, here was a man of such dignity and refinement, such 
lofty and genuine nobility, that in comparison they with all 
their boasted superiority appeared only poor and ignoble. 

That the present arrangement had been entered into 
to place this man at every possible disadvantage, and put 
him to confusion and shame, simply to satisfy the spleen of 
a degraded old man, was now apparent to all, but, on the 
contrary, he, this man, was the only one present who ap- 
peared wholly at ease. He was not only master of him- 
self, but had almost instantly mastered every man in that 
vast, brilliant company. 

They had come upon what had appeared to be a simple, 
sleek young animal; but instead they had aroused a mag- 
nificent young lion, incomparable in his beauty, strength 
and courage. 

“You have brought me before you,” that splendid 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 315 

voice rang out, clear, distinct, decisive, “ but for what pur- 
pose I cannot understand, nor will I attempt to hide from 
you the fact that I have but little interest in your motive 
for so doing.” 

The Emperor cringed. 

“ That you have sought to humiliate and embarrass 
me, I am now fully satisfied; your object in so doing, I 
repeat, does not even interest me. Were it not that I 
pitied and despised you for the smallness and meanness of 
your mind, I will not speak of your soul, for I doubt much 
if you have such a thing, I might, perhaps, feel annoyed.” 

The aged man upon the throne struggled desperately 
to keep his eyes fixed anywhere but upon that handsome, 
indignant face before him. 

Those grand gray eyes were blazing now with such a 
fire and light as seemed to scorch and burn wherever they 
rested. Up from that great assembly of men went one 
mighty gasp for breath. 

“ Look into my face ! ” The words rang out clear, 
imperative, compelling. 

The mighty Emperor, at that command, looked for the 
first time upon the face of his outraged son, and at that 
look his form seemed to contract and shrink as before fire. 

A low inarticulate cry burst from his trembling lips. 

The face before him was the living counterpart of his 
beautiful, outraged Empress, only intensified a hundred- 
fold. 

“ I will strike you as you have stricken me.” 

How those words of hers rolled upon him now with 
irresistible force and meaning. 

Those grand golden-gray eyes seemed to go down to 


316 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

the innermost recesses of his black, horribly disfigured 
soul with a deadly white light, and laid all the vileness that 
dwelt there out before him in a degrading shameful array. 

“ With a thousand swords have you surrounded your- 
self, and I must commend your courage. Very courageous 
must the great Paul be when he fears one man, and him 
alone, and unarmed. I must commend such courage. 
Aye,” and his voice rang out with peculiar and biting 
scorn, “ even such courage as I see drawn up along your 
walls, row upon row, rank upon rank.” A flush stole over 
the face of every man present. 

“ If for intention to intimidate,” continued he, “ let me 
say to you now that the land from whence I came has 
never yet bred a coward, or a poltroon.” 

A cold chill seemed to rest upon all present. The 
silence now resembled the great silence of death. 

“ They say of me that I am your son. God, indeed, 
pity me if that were true, for I have yet to learn of the 
first redeeming quality that has descended from or been 
born to the Imperial House of Carona; and lest there re- 
main any doubt in your mind, let me say to you now, that 
I would rather be the child of the poorest laborer in all 
America then to be the heir to the greatest reigning house 
in all Europe. I would not exchange one foot of her noble 
soil for all of your possessions North, South, East or 
West. 

“ How dare you to come into the presence of decent, 
honorable men? And yet you have had the temerity to 
send for and bring me into your presence; a presence so 
vile that it can only contaminate all with which it comes 
in contact. Who and what are you? A man-made Em- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 31 7 

peror. Have you ever for one moment tried to realize 
the genuine loftiness and nobility to which the people of 
this land have elected your house? Have you ever 
esteemed the great privilege you enjoy at the hands of your 
God and Creator? Have you ever, even for one moment, 
tried to discharge one of the simplest duties that rests upon 
you as Emperor of this people? Have you ever, even for 
one moment, lived such a life that your people, the people 
to whom you were called as an example and as a leader, 
or even one among those teeming millions would care to 
copy? No! No! But the rather; for all the wretched 
cruelties of your forbears, for all the filthy despicable acts 
of your own vile nature and life, they lie to-day a people, 
their faces black with shame, their eyes in the dust. 

“ They have tried to convince me that you are my 
father, that I am your son. What manner of father were 
you to the man who died upon your mountain side a few 
short months ago? Did you ever perform the first act 
that would have had even a tendency to add one jot of 
manhood to an already vitiated nature? No! No! But 
by every act, every word you sought to lower and degrade 
it to a greater degree, so that to-day you are a thousand, 
aye, ten thousand times more guilty than he.” 

Out rolled the torrent of words, nor could any man 
stay them. The vast concourse of men were paralyzed, 
stunned. Alfred Raymond was superb in his scorn and 
indignation. 

“ You, a father ! ” Oh, the cutting scorn. It is im- 
possible to describe it. “You a father! Aye, and before 
that, you a husband! Can you for one moment picture 
yourself as such? You who took that holy woman of the 


318 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

North, and by every form of deceit and treachery, be- 
trayed her more foully than was ever woman betrayed be- 
fore. How have you dared to profane the holy word of 
love? Love! Love! Was it love that prompted that 
black crime? Was it love that sent that noble woman to 
an untimely and shameful death? No! Call it by its own 
name. Call it by the name of your own filthiness. A 
filthiness so vile that in all Hell there can be found no 
depths deep or black enough to hide it.” 

“ You a father!” 

The Emperor lay back helpless against the carved 
arms of the great ebony throne; he seemed half stunned, 
yet the words of this man rolled upon him like a torrent, 
flaying and blistering him in every part. For the first 
time he saw himself as he really was; and the picture was 
appalling. He who looked upon himself as infallible, al- 
most divine, now crouched before this man, the son of his 
beautiful Empress, like a pitiable, beaten hound. 

“ You a father,” Alfred went on. “ Have you ever 
been a father to the people God gave you to rule and 
govern? What do you know of the joy or sorrow of a 
parent? Of the high holiness of such a position? Of the 
deep sense of the obligation assumed? 

“ Have you ever held a little infant form in your 
strong sheltering arms and felt that little warm, throbbing, 
Hving body against your heart, the clasp of those little 
velvety baby hands against your face, the fragrant breath 
of those little innocent lips upon your own, flesh of your 
flesh, blood of your blood, bone of your bone?” 

Paul the Emperor could not remove his eyes from that 
splendid face before him. Every word rolled as 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 319 

molten burning metal, seared and burned him to his inner- 
most soul. Yet, through it all he could hear, like the dis- 
tant echo of a knell, the words of the beautiful Northern 
Princess, “ through him I will break you as you have 
broken me ! ” But her son was still speaking, and he could 
not choose but listen, “ And knowing yourself for the vile 
wretch that you are, you have brought me here to shame- 
fully humiliate and heap your vile spleen upon me. How 
dared you, in the sight of God and man, take the sacred 
name and obligation of a father upon yourself? Had you 
been my father, as they say you are, and were you that in 
heart, would you not have come for me yourself, and not 
have sent an hireling and a servant? Were it my child, my 
son, who had been carried away, even to the uttermost parts 
of the world, do you think that I would have waited to 
have had him brought to me? No! There is no power 
that would have restrained me from going to him, though 
I had gone on foot every step of the way. 

“ Had it been my son, think you I would have been 
that unnatural creature that would have endeavored, in the 
contemptible smallness of my nature, to have forced him 
into the position in which your degraded nature has en- 
deavored to place me to-day? 

“ Were your efforts not so pitiable, they would be 
despicable, therefore I pity you too much to despise you. 

“ And yet, to your contemptible smallness must I ac- 
knowledge myself grateful ; for by every act, every word 
of yours, you have satisfied me wholly that you are not my 
father, and I am not your son, for which I say, gratefully 
and reverently, I thank God ! And again, I thank God ! ” 
John of Ainhault at those words wheeled toward the 


320 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

speaker as if struck a sharp blow. Col. Miron never 
moved, although his fierce eyes were blazing with a great 
terrible light. 

And now every eye was turned upon that splendid 
face and figure that stood so proudly and fearlessly before 
the great ebony throne. 

“ The seed may have proceeded from your loins, but 
I do not believe that God ever decreed that you should be 
my father, or that I should be your son; and I pity you. 
I believe myself to be, by the grace of God, the son of her, 
Charlotte of the North, and by the hand of God, the son 
of her, Margaret Raymond, the grandest and noblest 
woman that ever lived upon the earth; and now I return 
to her country and mine, the land God and she gave to me. 
To her daughter, the loving and beloved sister God and 
she have given to me; and know you that in the love of 
My Land! My Country! and My Home! and in the pure 
love of the child of that noble woman, I shall find such 
compensation as no dying, decaying dynasty upon earth 
can ever give. Trouble me no more. Farewell. ,, 

Alfred Raymond turned, and as he did so a deafening 
hiss of blade against scabbard rent the air. 

A thousand blades leaped forth and were held aloft, 
suspended in mid-air. Not a blade quivered, and the 
sinking sun flashed them into uncounted tongues of living 
flame. 

With head proudly erect, a smile upon his handsome 
face, his grand gray eyes glowing like golden fires, his 
proud free step ringing out from the polished floor, he 
walked down that great room between those walls of up- 
raised steel. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


321 


He was free! Free! Almost he seemed to be walking 
upon the air. Hope again lived. He was going back to 
his own ; the own that he loved ; the own that loved him. 
As he reached the great golden doors the leaves swung 
back. For one moment he paused; then he turned toward 
that shrinking, shriveled figure upon the great ebony throne. 
Crash ! Every sword leaped into the scabbard. Every man 
in the Crown Prince's company went down upon his knee. 
Every man in the Imperial Guard. Every man in the 
Royal Marines. 

The Emperor leaned forward, all his soul looking out 
from his eyes, striving, as it were, to fix the imprint of 
that form upon his heart before it should pass from his 
sight. 

One moment Alfred stood in the great arched door- 
way, proudly erect and free. A ray of sunlight lingered 
upon the beautiful gold-brown head like a celestial fire; 
one moment, then he saluted and was gone. 

The Emperor slowly sank back against the arms of the 
great ebony throne. As that vast company of men arose 
to their feet, John of Ainhault stepped quickly forward to 
the throne and addressed the broken, reclining figure there. 
“ Your Majesty," his voice rang out cold and clear, “ here 
is my sword.” As he spoke he drew it from its scabbard. 
“ Sworn to your service it has never served another ; it 
never will serve another. I herewith return it to you.” 

He lifted it in his two hands and touched its blade to 
his lips. “ I hereby renounce my allegiance to my country 
and to you.” Quickly catching the sword by the point and 
hilt he bent it across his knee and broke it in two. 


322 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

A sound that was almost a groan went up from the 
whole company. 

He laid the broken pieces at the feet of the Emperor 
who sat spell bound; then he loosed his belt and said, as 
he dropped it upon the floor at his feet, “ For I go with 
this man ; his land shall be my land. His destiny shall be 
by destiny. His God shall be my God.” And turning, 
passed through a small doorway and was gone. 

“ Men of the Royal Marines ! About face ! March ! ” 

Col. Miron was in command, and the order rang out 
like a battle cry. 

As one man they wheeled; as one man they stepped. 

“ Men of His Highness’ company ! About face ! 
March!” 

Only the rythmic sound of moving feet as that splendid 
company marched away. 

The soul of the old battle-scarred veteran was stretched 
upon the rack, cruelly wrenched between love and duty; 
for this man, Alfred Raymond, had become the very apple 
of his eye, yet he never faltered. 

“ Men of the Royal Marines ! About face ! March ” 
It was Admiral Sefton who gave the order, and under cover 
of the departure of the Marines the great personages near 
the throne departed, Col. Miron alone remaining, standing 
at the right of the Emperor. 

The great room was empty, deserted. 

A great sobbing sigh came up from the depths of the 
throne. 

“ Miron ! Miron ! ” the Emperor spoke in a shrill 
whisper. 

“ Miron ! Miron !” Again that shrill whisper, as he 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 323 

grasped Col. Miron fiercely by the wrist, his wild eyes gaz- 
ing intently into the vacancy before him. 

“Miron! Did you see him? Did you see him? My 
son! My son! He is mine! Mine!” The shrill old 
voice rose in a weird cry. “ Her son ! Her son ! Hers 
and mine! And he dared to affront me! Me, the Em- 
peror! Did you see him, Miron? Like his mother ! Like 
her ! So she looked that day ! As he looked to-day ! But 
where is he, Miron ? ” said he, looking vaguely around. 
“ Where are they all ? We are alone, Miron, you and I.” 

Then he looked down and saw the broken sword of 
John of Ainhault lying at his feet with the discarded belt 
not far away upon the polished floor. 

For a moment he gazed at it intently, as if striving to 
recall how it came there, then his benumbed faculties 
gradually awoke. “A broken sword. A broken sword.” 
In a hoarse sepulchral tone involuntarily he repeated the 
words of John of Ainhault. “ * I renounce my allegiance to 
my country and to you.’ He of Ainhault has renounced 
his country? He will go with this man, Miron? Where? 
Where ? ” said he fiercely. 

“ 4 His land shall be my land. His destiny shall be my 
destiny. His God shall be my God/” As Col. Miron re- 
peated those words of John of Ainhault they rang with 
an indescribable moan through the great, desolate, empty 
room. 

“ His land ! ” said the Emperor. “ Where is this 
land? What is this land?” 

“ The grandest country I have ever seen. The noblest 
race of men under the sun to-day; and a land that is 
destined to be the greatest in the world.” The voice of the 


324 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

old warrior rang out like a trumpet. His words seemed 
almost a prophecy. 

“ And they are going ? Going ? And leave me here 
alone? No ! No ! It shall not be ! ” His voice rose almost 
to a shriek. “ It shall not be ! It is treason ! And treason 
is punishable by death! They shall not go! They shall 
not go ! I, the Emperor, declare it ! Here ! ” said he, tear- 
ing at his jeweled trappings, “take them away! Take 
them away! Quick! Take me to him! To him! At 
once ! ” 

He was greatly excited. Miron called an attendant, 
and assisted by him they conducted him to his own apart- 
ments. 

The great throne room was empty, deserted. Upon 
the dais before the great carved ebony throne lay a sword ; 
below it, upon the polished floor, a discarded jeweled belt. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


325 


CHAPTER XX 

As the leaves of the* great golden doors swung to and 
shut out the brilliant scene, Alfred turned and darted along 
the corridor, running like an Indian. 

He was free! Free! Almost he could have shouted 
for joy. Were he in the open he felt he could not restrain 
himself. He was still in this great gloomy prison. He 
did not see its magnificence, its luxury, he saw only its 
grim ghastliness; he heard only the groans of the people 
who had given their lives, their all, to help create it, and 
so it still oppressed him ; he wanted only to be free from it, 
so he hurried, hurried. 

Reaching the door of the Empress’ suite he waved 
aside the attendant there, and opening the door himself, 
entered and closed it after him. 

“Jasper! Oh, Uncle Jasper!” he called. 

“Yes, suh. Yes, suh. Ah’s a cornin’,” said the 
wavering voice of the old man from an inner room. 

“ Hurry up, Uncle ! Hurry ! ” The old boyish im- 
petuousness had returned. The man was gone. The boy 
had returned. The handsome face was flushed. The grand 
golden-gray eyes were gleaming. 

“Whaffo’s de mattah, suh? Whafifo’s all dis yeah 
commoshun, suh ? ” said the old colored man, hurrying in. 

“ We’re going home, Uncle ; do you hear ? We’re going 
home ! ” said Alfred, catching him by his frail bent shoulders 
and shaking him gently. “ We’re going home ! ” 

“Home, chile?” said the quavering old voice, while 


326 My Land . My Country . My Home. 

the dim old eyes peered up into those great glowing orbs 
above him with a pleading, beseeching look. “Home?” 

“Yes, Uncle; home. To our home; yours and mine; 
our America ! ” 

“ Bress de Lawd!” ejeculated the old man fervently. 

“ Amen,” supplemented Alfred. “ And now, hurry 
Uncle, let’s pack up our things and get away just as quickly 
as we can ; this place stifles me.” 

“ An’ you ain’t no Crown Prince, suh ? ” 

“ Thank God ! No, Uncle.” 

“ Bress de Lawd ! Bress de Lawd ! ” said the old 
darkey low and fervently. “ Yo’ said we’s agoin’ ; chile, 
yo’s a gwine to tek Uncle Jaspah wiv yo’?” 

“ Surely, Uncle ! ” replied Alfred, half surprised, “ un- 
less you don’t care to go.” 

“ Why, chile, ah ain’t got nowhar’ else to go. Ah 
ain’t got noboddy nor nuffln.” A great wave of desolation 
seemed to sweep over the black, bent form of the old 
darkey. 

“ Why, yes you have, Uncle ! You’ve got me.” 

“En you’ll tek Uncle Jaspah? You’ll tek Uncle 
Jaspah wiv yo’?” The old man was fairly trembling with 
pathetic eagerness. “ Ah’ll tek sich keer ub yo’.” 

“No, you won’t, Uncle; it’s I who will take care of 
you,” said Alfred, all eager and excited. “But come! 
We must hurry ! Hurry ! ” 

“ In the name of the Emperor, open ! ” Loud, dis- 
cordant, commanding, came the order from beyond the 
closed door. 

Alfred Raymond stopped short. The old colored man 
shrunk back. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 327 

“ In the name of the Emperor, open ! ” Again came 
that sharp command. 

Alfred stepped quickly toward the closed door. 

“ No King or Emperor enters here. All of my pre- 
rogatives as a guest I now assume ; I have done nothing to 
jeopardize them, therefore these rooms are sacred to my 
use. Let this matter go no further. I have spoken.” 
Sharp, cold, cutting, the answer came to those standing 
without. There was a moment’s silence, then there came 
a low rap upon the great door. 

Alfred bent his head. 

“ My son,” at the sound of the weak quavering voice 
Alfred turned pale, “ will you not open to your father and 
an old man? ” 

Every vestige of color forsook the face of the listener 
within the room. 

“ My son, my son,” the voice wailed, so close that it 
seemed to come from the very door itself, “ turn me not 
away, but open, I beseech you, to an old man and your 
father.” 

Alfred stepped forward and unbolting the door flung 
it wide and stepped back. 

The Emperor entered, leaning heavily upon the arm 
of Col. Miron. 

The door swung to. Someone closed it. The four 
were alone; a strangely assorted quartette. 

The aged Emperor, his proud, haughty spirit now 
bent, subjugated, weak and trembling; Col. Miron, staunch, 
grizzled, firm, a great beseeching upon his grim scarred 
face ; the old colored man in the background, feeble, 
pathetic, faithful, with Alfred standing in the midst, pale, 


328 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

startled, rigid, his splendid figure drawn proudly erect, 
defensive, inflexible, unyielding. 

For a moment the dimmed aged eyes of the Emperor 
looked beseechingly into those splendid glowing orbs that 
now burned with a dark smouldering light. 

“ My son ! My son ! ” said he, as he stretched out his 
arms in pathetic appeal to that silent, rigid figure. “ Do 
not leave me, I pray you, do not forsake me. I am an old 
man and broken; I have no one to lean upon. You are my 
son; mine! You belong to me. You cannot leave me like 
this.” The voice of the older man broke into a weird wail. 
“ You will not leave me like this! ” 

The face of Alfred Raymond became white and drawn 
with pain. 

The Emperor never removed his gaze from that hand- 
some face before him. Col. Miron watched him with a 
fierce, intense longing in his sharp, piercing eyes, breath- 
lessly waiting. Only God and himself knew how he desired 
this man for his Prince and master. 

The old colored man, with all the dumb devotion of a 
dog, watched that splendid face that seemed as if frozen 
with pain and agony. 

Alfred Raymond had come face to face with the crisis 
of his life. Almost it seemed as if his soul were being rent 
in twain. 

All the love for her, the land of his love, his home, was 
drawing, drawing with a terrible, almost irresistible force. 
The old black face, from out of which was looking all the 
years of misery, longing and despair, was now bent upon 
his with such a look of dumb agony that a low moan broke 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 329 

from his lips; a moan that sounded almost like a sob 
through the great, luxurious room. 

He wanted to go, to fling off the chains that bound 
him; to be free. And almost he had gained that freedom, 
but suddenly he found himself more firmly ensnared than 
before; and in this room. What was it that caused his 
blood to chill, the cold perspiration to break out all over 
his body? 

An unseen, powerful presence seemed to be coming 
nearer, nearer, a presence he felt that would completely 
conquer and hold him. 

He tried to break away, to throw it off. 

“ My son, my son ; ” again that wailing, broken voice 
of the Emperor. 

Alfred shook his head. Slowly he gathered himself 
together for the last great struggle. 

Suddenly the Emperor dropped the strong, support- 
ing arm of Col. Miron and staggered forward to the great 
mirror. His frenzied, wavering hands caught at a heavy 
cord that hung there which he pulled with desperate energy. 

The great rose-satin drapery rolled back. 

Quickly he rushed across to another opposite and 
pulled it in like manner with the same result. 

Alfred, who had watched his movements with wonder, 
now lifted his eyes toward the great panels; before him 
there seemed to rise a mist. 

Something flung itself at his feet and clasped him close 
around the knee; he scarcely felt it. His splendid great 
eyes were striving to penetrate the veil before him. 

Again he felt a presence, a presence that seemed 
slowly to be mastering him. 


330 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Then from out the dim, filmy mist, there slowly ap- 
peared a form and a face. A face so like his mother; only 
this face was a thousand times more lovely, more tender. 
Those great, luminous brown eyes seemed to glow and burn 
with a deep celestial light; a look of radiant love and be- 
seeching upon that beloved, glorified face. 

He stretched out his splendid arms with all the pathetic 
entreaty of a child. 

“ Mother ! Mother ! ” The words broke from his lips 
freighted with loving tenderness. 

The face seemed to smile, then the form began to re- 
cede; slowly it seemed to dilate and grow taller. Farther, 
farther, until it rested against the panel beside the great 
gold-framed mirror. The dazzling, filmy drapery began to 
take on an ivory-white hue ; the beautiful loved face began 
to grow dim, and disappear, and another face, crowned 
with pale, golden hair, and lit with grand gray eyes, slowly 
came into view. 

With arms still outstretched, he stood as if petrified. 

A leaden weight seemed to have bound him to the 
place where he stood. 

The watchers stood breathless. 

What was this? Who was this with face so like his 
own? 

Up there where he had seen the form of his sainted 
mother recede and disappear, now appeared the face and 
form of a woman lovely beyond compare. 

But the face! The face was so like his own, and for 
a moment he wondered if it were the face of the man 
standing here or the pictured face upon the wall. 

There was a slight movement at his feet, and turn- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 331 

ing his wondering eyes away he saw his own reflected form 
and features in the great mirror. The handsome face; 
the grand, golden-gray eyes, the waving, gold-brown hair; 
then his gaze went back to the picture of the woman clad 
in ivory white. The beautiful, fair face, a perfect counter- 
part of his own, with the same grand, golden-gray eyes, 
and crowned with pale, golden hair. 

Slowly his outstretched arms sank. 

What did it all mean? His heart and body felt numb. 

Where was the mother who had appeared as from the 
dead and then had vanished? Who was this woman with 
face so like his own who had taken her place? 

“ My son, my son,” the voice seemed to come from his 
feet “ Do not leave me ! I pray you do not forsake me, but 
let the pictured face of your dead mother plead for me. I 
know that I am all unfit, all unworthy, but you are mine ; 
hers and mine. Charlotte! Charlotte!” The voice of the 
Emperor rose in a bitter wail as he lifted one hand toward 
the picture of the dead Empress. “ Plead with him for 
me, your son and mine, that he leave me not ; I cannot let 
him go. He is yours, he is mine; I know that I am all 
unworthy, but I want him; I want him.” The wavering 
voice ended in a broken sob. 

Alfred looked down and was inexpressibly shocked to 
find the Emperor kneeling at his feet and clasping him close 
about the knees. 

Col. Miron in the background looked upon the picture 
before him, breathless. 

To the left of the great mirror hung a life-sized por- 
trait of the Emperor, made more than thirty years before; 
to the right hung the portrait of that beautiful Northern 


332 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Princess, Charlotte of the North. Reflected in the great 
mirror was the form of Alfred Raymond, the son of that 
pitiable union, and kneeling at his feet, clasping his knees 
in close embrace, was the mighty Emperor Paul, ruler of 
the greatest empire in the world, supplicating, spent, broken. 

“ Look ! Look ” wailed he, stretching out his hand 
again. “ Look into the face of your mother, and let her 
plead for me, my son, plead for my forgiveness.” 

“ Into the face of your mother.” Alfred looked into 
the pictured face of the young, beautiful Empress. 

Slowly the meaning of those words sunk into his brain. 
“ Into the face of your mother.” This, then, was the mother 
who bore him. The chosen instrument in the hands of the 
Divine Father to do His will. What was that? Did the 
pictured face smile? Into the eyes that were looking into 
his own there seemed to come a look of great beseeching, 
of great tenderness, of great love. 

A wonderful presence seemed to be near ; about him ; 
it caught him ; it held him ; henceforth there was to be no 
escape; he was bound now, body and soul. 

Lower crouched the aged form of the Emperor at his 
feet. Lower, slowly lower until the face of the father lay 
uopn the floor at his very feet. 

“ Through him I will strike you as you have stricken 
me. I will break you as you have broken me. I will lay 
your face in the dust as you have laid mine in the dust.” 

The prophecy of the Empress had been fulfilled and 
the face of the mighty Emperor Paul lay in the dust, pray- 
ing for pardon at the feet of the wife and son he had so 
foully wronged and outraged. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


333 


“ Rise, I beg of you,” said Alfred, leaning down and 
touching him gently. 

But the crouching figure at his feet only sank lower. 
From the ground came to him this plea, “ Not until you 
have forgiven me, my son, forgiven me for her, all the 
wrong I did her and you. My face is bowed, bowed to the 
earth, and can never again be lifted, unless you will lift it 
up with your forgiveness and pardon ; unless you, my son, 
will promise me that you will not leave me nor forsake me 
in mine old age.” 

Alfred seemed turned to stone. 

Sounding as through a hollow, echoing room he heard 
the words he had heard before so often ; “ Oh, my Father, 
if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not 
as I will, but as Thou wilt.” Why could not the great Son 
of God avert the agony and trial hanging over him? He 
had often wondered. Now he understood, for he too, knew 
the agony. He lifted his eyes to the pictured face of his 
mother; how strangely that thought came to him. 

The mother who had reared him. He remembered 
her and all she had been to him; with a pang he recalled 
every memory of that dear one ; all the love, all the tender- 
ness, then all the agony and the loss. 

Then that last wonderful vision of her, when it seemed 
almost as if she had returned from the grave to give him 
back again to the mother who had borne him. He was 
looking into that beautiful face, that face so like his own; 
it seemed almost he was looking into his own face and all 
the truth, all the honor, all the manhood in him arose. The 
path before him grew plain; his duty became suddenly 
clear. A wonderful light seemed to come into the grand 


334 -My Land. My Country. My Home. 

gray eyes that were looking into his, and irradiate the whole 
face. 

For a moment he gazed with wistful longing, then, 
“ My mother ! ” broke in low, thrilling accents from his 
lips. 

Bending down and putting his strong arms about the 
crouching, bending form at his feet, he lifted him up and 
said, as he held him closely clasped to him for a moment, 
“ I forgive you, my father, even as I hope that God, for 
Christ’s sake, will one day forgive me.” 

“ And you will not leave me ? ” said the Emperor, as 
he put his hands upon the shoulders of his son and pushed 
himself back so that he might look into that handsome face 
above him. “You will not leave me? You will stay with 
me?” 

“ I will not leave you ; I will stay with you,” said 
Alfred, gently. 

“Thank God! Oh, thank God!” ejaculated the Em- 
peror. 

“ Amen and amen ! ” fervently responded the low 
voice of Col. Miron. 

The Emperor staggered back and would have fallen 
had not Alfred sprung forward and caught him; he was 
weak and spent; his strength seemed almost gone. Col. 
Miron hurried forward, and between them they supported 
him to a couch. 

They would have summoned assistance, but he stayed 
them. After a little he asked to be taken to his own apart- 
ments. A little later Alfred was alone. 

Going over to the great mirror he studied the pictured 
face of the Emperor, and again he could trace the resem- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 335 

blance between that proud, haughty face and his own ; then 
he turned to the picture of the Empress, his mother, a 
world of longing and tenderness in his eyes. 

He had heard and read the story of the Divine Son of 
God, who had left his Heavenly Home to dwell upon earth, 
but could not quite understand why, if He were the Divine 
Son of God, He had chosen the shameful death upon the 
cross. He had the Divine power, why could He not have 
saved Himself? All of this he had not been able to quite 
understand. 

But now, standing before the pictures of his father 
and mother, the Emperor and Empress; himself the ac- 
knowledged Crown Prince and heir to the mightiest empire 
in the world, there came to him suddenly a revelation of 
his true position. 

Far, far back in the past, ages and ages ago, the people 
of this land had selected its supreme ruler from his father’s 
house. He had accepted the position to which they had 
elected him ; and in accepting that position, had also taken 
upon himself the responsibilities which he had pledged to 
assume not only for himself, but also for all who would 
come after him. So as generation had succeeded to genera- 
tion, had the Imperial succession been handed down from 
father to son, until it had come to his own father, and in 
time must come to him. 

It was a thing over which he seemingly had no control 
whatever, for he found himself in a position where he 
must do the best he could, with what he had to do with. 

“ By the hand that would have wrought you the great- 
est harm He has brought you the greatest good.” 

Those wonderful words of Friend Nathan Arnold. 


336 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

He saw it all. The truth of them came home to him now 
with irresistible force and meaning. Now he understood 
the years of preparation and training received at the hands 
of that wonderful mother who had trained him, as he under- 
stood the call to the mother who had borne him. 

Now he understood his own renunciation; why he 
must be more than a singing, echoing voice. While this 
great nation had been sinking farther and farther away 
from its Great Creator, and from its Divine right to be a 
nation of and for the Highest, God had been preparing him 
a man, by the hand of woman, whom, when the time should 
come, He would call to lead this captive people from cap- 
tivity and darkness into freedom and light. 

And to that end he must have “ No other Gods before 
Me,” so must he renounce all and “ take up his cross.” 
And now Alfred Raymond stood face to face with that 
cross and understood why he must bear it, having no other 
desire apart, until at the end it would lift him up, up, up to 
the Divine Kingdom, the Kingdom of God, and love. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


337 


CHAPTER XXI 

The events of the past clays and weeks had transpired 
with such rapidity and quick succession, that the minds of 
all with whom they had come in contact, or who had been 
more or less influenced by them, had been reduced to a state 
of greater or less bewilderment, leaving few fully alive to 
the real situation. 

The peculiar and complex position of Alfred Raymond 
as Crown Prince of Carona, and as supposed American 
citizen, had not yet unfolded itself. The strangeness of it 
was not yet fully realized. 

Born the direct and only descendant of an Emperor, 
who in turn was the descendant of a long line of Emperors 
who had ruled with unlimited and despotic power for a 
thousand years and more, his mother a Royal Princess, 
daughter of a long line of Kings ; made royal by a line almost 
as long as time itself, he had been taken from the land of 
his birth and nativity, and all of its surroundings and in- 
fluences, at his earliest infancy, almost, it seemed, before its 
breath could enter into his nostrils to give to him the little 
of the life-giving virtue it still possessed, and had been 
carried away to that new land of the West, from the old 
world of the East, with its worn and almost spent energies, 
its nearly devitalized life, and thrust into that fresh, new, 
and invigorating life of the West, where one draws in with 
every inhalation the marvelous vitality that is the life of the 
atmosphere itself, which had changed him into an entirely 
new being. 


338 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The wonderful life of that new, rich land, breathed in 
with every breath he had breathed, absorbed by every con- 
tact into which he had been brought, when placed in that 
land, had so impregnated his whole being, and had so become 
a part of him, that never more, so long as time would last, 
would it be separated from him; in fact, it had become the 
real and genuine part of him. 

Then having had born into him all of the wonderful 
virtues of his noble, sainted mother, and having been placed 
so unrestrainedly into the hands of a woman of the nature 
and character of Margaret Raymond, who had trained every 
noble and lofty trait until she had developed it to the utmost 
degree, had seemingly succeeded in eliminating every par- 
ticle of the wretchedly detestable and barbarous character 
descended to him from his father’s house. 

Living in that noble, free land of the West, almost, one 
might say, from his very birth, absorbing her wonderful 
liberty, equality, and freedom in every fibre of his being, 
he had come to adore her with a passion that was second 
only to the love he bore her whom he called mother; a 
passion that at times bordered almost upon idolatry. 

And did she not deserve all his great love and admira- 
tion, for had she not helped to make him all that he was 
and had been to-day? 

The desperate fierceness with which he had resented 
the information as to his real identity and position, had 
seemed only natural. 

The ease with which he had met the trying ordeal of 
meeting his father for the first time, even though carried 
out by the Emperor in that unnatural and barbarous manner, 
and the grace and dignity with which he had extricated him- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


339 


self from that complicated situation, had seemed only reason- 
able and right. 

Alfred Raymond, as we have said, born of royal parents, 
made royal by birth, removed from every possible contact 
or influence of that royalty that was his by right of birth and 
succession, placed in a land and among a people whom it 
seemed God Himself had been pleased to make truly royal, 
every truly noble, truly royal impulse and virtue developed 
to the fullest, he, without a syllable of preparation or warn- 
ing, found himself torn with almost lightning-like rapidity 
from that true nobility, that true royalty, and flung back 
into the land of his birth and nativity, a land that to him 
was the most alien of the alien, into the midst of a nobility 
and royalty that was almost dead of its own rottenness and 
decay. 

Torn from the land he named in agony, “ My Land, 
My Country, My Home/’ he found himself suddenly 
placed in the midst of the land that was in reality his by 
birth; His Land, His Country, His Home. 

For a time his overwrought mind must have felt that 
for him there was no place at all ; that for the sole of his 
foot there was no rest to be found on land or on sea; in 
Heaven or in t Hell. And surely, could one enter into the 
situation, no more pitiful or painful one could be found. 

Separated from that most extreme and conservative 
court of his birth, reared in the most extreme reverse, re- 
turned to the former and entirely unknown situation, could 
anything greater be conceived? Can mortal mind really 
comprehend it? Can greater extreme be imagined? 

What would the outcome be? Where indeed would the 
man find His Land, His Country, His Home? 


340 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


Some such thoughts as these passed through the mind 
of John of Ainhault as he rode swiftly along through the 
deepening shadows of the departing day. Though the sun 
was sinking in the west, all about was bathed in a glowing, 
rosy light. 

Hope was again singing a glad song in his heart. “And 
now I return to the land God and she gave to me.” Those 
words still rang in his ear and thrilled him through all his 
being when he remembered that he had cast in his lot with 
this man Alfred Raymond ; he had sworn fealty to him as 
prince and master; for him he had renounced home and 
country ; he had pledged himself to bear part and companion- 
ship in land, destiny and God. For him he had forsworn all. 

Ah, was it for him? 

A soft, luminous light dwelt in his eyes ; a tender smile 
played across his fine face as he recalled that in that land, 
that distant land of the West, there dwelt a woman, to him 
beautiful beyond compare. A woman with fair golden hair 
and eyes of a deep, velvety blue. A woman for whom he 
would deem the world well lost, could he but win her for 
his own. And so, with this man he would journey to that 
marvellous country, there to mingle with those wonderful 
people, to become one of them, and thus attain to the highest 
and noblest. 

The subtly invigorating vitality of that land had al- 
ready penetrated his being, and like an essence of new, 
revitalized life was stirring him to his innermost soul with 
its strange and fascinating power. And doubly impelled by 
the memory of that exquisitely fair face that had flashed 
meteor-like across his life, he became insensible to all his 
surroundings and the difficulties of his position. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 341 

So, lost in rosy dreams of the future, he sped on his 
way toward Castle Ainhault, where the Archduchess Miriam 
waited with an almost feverish impatience for his coming, 
to hear from his own lips the outcome of that inhuman and 
barbarous interview ordered by the infuriated Emperor Paul, 
for his unwelcome and unhappy son. 

Knowing the Emperor as she did, with his uncurbed, 
unrestrained temper, his almost inhuman disposition to 
utterly crush* all who opposed or offended him in any way, 
she saw but one outcome, and that was the utter overthrow 
and annihilation of the unfortunate son upon whose inno- 
cent and unprotected head he had planned to vent all his 
devilish, vindictive spleen. 

That any man could successfully pass through such an 
ordeal as he had prepared for this man, did not once present 
itself to her, particularly as among those present there was 
not one whom he, this man, could possibly rely upon to 
uphold or sustain him, no matter what might transpire ; and 
she could scarcely suppress a shudder as she tried to picture 
the result of the interview of which she felt she knew only 
too little, as told to her in the few broken, agitated words 
of her son. 

Unable to restrain her unrest longer, she slowly de- 
scended the splendid marble stairway and made her way 
through the great hall to the entrance. 

Exquisitely clothed lackeys drew open the leaves of 
the door and saluted as she passed through, with almost 
unseeing eyes, to the magnificent stone portico beyond. 

Long and silently she stood and looked with earnest, 
strongly concentrated gaze across the widely intervening 
space that lay between, to the magnificent royal palace of the 


342 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Emperor, and strove to picture in her mind the scene she 
knew was being enacted there ; but no thought came to her ; 
no faintest suggestion even presented itself to her. Her 
mind seemed almost to have become a blank. 

At last roused from the deep abstraction by the sound 
of a horse rapidly approaching, she turned to see her son, 
John of Ainhault, riding swiftly toward her through the 
early twilight. 

Throwing the reins to a groom, he passed quickly up the 
steps to meet her. 

As he approached nearer and saluted her, she almost 
reeled from the place where she stood at the look of radiant 
joy that illuminated and seemed to transfigure his fine face. 

She had been distressed almost beyond endurance, and 
had prepared her to meet almost anything that should come 
in the form of defeat, even ruin itself, and now the look she 
met nearly overwhelmed her. 

“ Tell me, my son! ” said she, “ tell me what means this 
look of great joy that I see upon your face? When you 
left me, the look I saw there was of one who goes to look 
upon death itself and my soul has agonized in torment all 
the day; when, lo! you return to me and your look is of 
one who has looked upon the Elysian fields themselves. Tell 
me,” said she, giving his arm a little shake, “ what means 
this great and wondrous change ? ” 

“A glimpse of Elysian fields, my mother? said he, 
looking into her face, “ a glimpse of Elysian fields, say you? 
Aye, and more, for the gates of Paradise have opened to me. 
A Paradise from the gates of which a woman, more beauti- 
ful than Clotho herself, stands and beckons me to enter. 
But come within with me; I have a tale to relate, my 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 343 

mother; a tale the equal to which it seemeth me was never 
yet spoken by mortal lips.” 

He conducted her to her private apartments, and seat- 
ing her upon a divan, he went over and taking his place 
near the hearth, began his tale. 

“As I said to you last night, the Emperor arranged to 
have his son brought before him in the great throne room. 
The Imperial Guard, the Emperor’s own company, in full 
uniform, with Col. Miron in command, were drawn up 
along the east wall; the Crown Prince’s company, myself 
in command, were stationed along the west wall; Admiral 
Sefton with the Marines, the south wall. The Emperor, 
arrayed in all his royal robes, was seated upon the throne, 
while surrounding him upon all sides were all the high 
dignitaries and ecclesiastics, in all their brilliant dress and 
regalia. I yet have never looked upon a more imposing 
sight. 

“At promptly three by the clock in the tower, the great 
golden doors of the throne room were thrown open and 
Alfred Raymond was conducted within and left standing 
just within the line of the Marines upon the open floor, 
alone. 

“ Strict orders had been given that not a man present 
should even look upon him, the Emperor’s supreme idea 
being to embarrass and humiliate him beyond human en- 
durance.” 

The Archduchess leaned slightly forward, her hands 
tightly clenched, listening intently. 

Where her overwrought brain had refused to picture 
the scene she so desired, now, as portrayed by the words 


344 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

of her son, she saw all with startling distinctness, only, the 
face of the man Alfred Raymond was hidden. 

“After announcing the man as ‘ His Royal Highness, 
the Crown Prince Alfred,’ ” continued the speaker, “ the 
silence was intense. No one spoke. How long we stood 
thus, I do not know; but, suddenly, after what seemed an 
interminable length of that painful silence, he, Alfred Ray- 
mond, strode up the length of that great room and stood 
directly before the throne. The silence was most impressive. 
Long while he seemed to be studying the features of the 
man who sat there. At last he spoke ” 

“ He spoke ! ” exclaimed the Archduchess. “ Without 
being addressed by the Emperor ? ” She grew slowly pale ; 
her mind filled with fear. 

“Yes,” was the reply. 

“And his words were?” 

“ The simplest and most comprehensive of any I have 
ever heard.” 

“Tell me,” said she eagerly, “how dared he speak 
without being first addressed by the Emperor? What did 
he, what could Tie say ? ” 

“ Calm, courteous, polite, he said, ‘ You have sent for 
me? You wished to see me? You will tell me what you 
want of me and I will go.’ ” 

“ He said that ? ” exclaimed she. “And the Emperor 
? ” 

“Nearly went mad with rage. ‘You will do what?’ 
Said he. ‘You heard all that I said,’ was the reply, ‘and 
there is no need for me to repeat.’ A vile imprecation rose 
to the lips of the infuriated Emperor, while every man 
present was stunned by what had already taken place, when 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 345 

this man stayed it, and then out rolled such a torrent of 
indignation as methinks never yet was spoken by the tongue 
of man. His voice, cold and clear as purest steel, sharper 
than any two-edged sword, cut into the black and filthy 
life of the man before him until not a vestige of manhood 
was left upon which he could rest. 

“ With a skill that exceeded cunning itself, he unfolded 
the life of the man upon the throne until it hung out in the 
pure white light of truth, in the sight of all, fairly dripping 
with foulness and bestiality, and the shame was, that every 
word he uttered, every act he portrayed, was truth itself. 
Yes,” said John of Ainhault, as he dropped his head with 
shame ; “ the filth of my father’s house was uncovered, and 
its stench, methinks, will never leave my nostrils more.” 

The Archduchess turned her face aside to hide her 
emotion. 

“ The Emperor,” said he, after a short pause, “ seemed 
paralyzed. Never before had man dared to stand before 
him. Never before had any man dared to show him to 
himself as he really was, for the words of this man swept 
away every possible chance of evasion or palliation from 
him and left him absolutely condemned and damned. 

“ * Look into my face ! 9 said he ; and his voice rang out 
like a trumpet. And Paul, the Emperor, sank back against 
the throne with a low cry, for the face before him was the 
face of the son of her whom he had so foully wronged and 
betrayed years before. Almost, methinks, he must have 
felt that he was looking into her own face. 

“ Could the Emperor have spoken, methinks his cry 
would have been, ‘ Mountains, cover me ! Seas, hide me ! ’ 
For the picture was appalling. And still that voice stayed 


346 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

not until it had searched and swept the whole life of the 
man. Then from out of that blackness and filth, from out 
of that wreck and ruin, he caught the golden key that gave 
back to him his liberty and freedom/’ 

The Archduchess sat spellbound by the terribly won- 
drous recital. Almost she seemed to have become lifeless; 
all of her anxiety had disappeared ; all of her unrest had 
ceased. She was hanging upon every word, every syllable. 
He was going on. 

“ 'And yet, to your contemptible smallness, I must 
acknowledge myself grateful ; for by every act, every word 
of yours you have satisfied me wholly that you are not 
my father and I am not your son, for which I say reverently 
and gratefully, I thank God ! And again I thank God ! ’ 
said he. 

“ Listen, my mother,” said John of Ainhault, his voice 
swelling deep, full and resonant, “ listen to the grandest 
tribute ever paid to woman, in the words of Alfred Ray- 
mond, Crown Prince of Carona and heir to the greatest 
empire in the world ! ‘ I believe myself to be, by the grace 
of God, the son of her, Charlotte of the North, and Dy the 
hand of God, the son of her, Margaret Raymond, the 
grandest and noblest woman that ever lived upon the earth. 
For in those words I believe is embodied woman’s true 
heritage. The heritage of the purity of true wifehood. 
The heritage of the nobility of true motherhood; her true 
heritage, the power to create the holy sacredness of home.’ ” 

"And then ? ” said she, breathlessly. 

“ Then,” said her son, “ he, Alfred Raymond, spoke his 
ultimatum, 'And now I return to the land God and she gave 
to me ; to the loving and beloved sister God and she have 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 347 

given to me, and know you that in the pure love of the child 
of that noble woman I shall find such compensation as no 
dying, decaying dynasty upon earth can ever give. Trouble 
me no more. Farewell.’ And turning, he strode down the 
great room ; paused a moment in the great doorway, saluted 
and was gone.” 

“And the Emperor ? ” questioned she. 

“ There was but one Emperor there to-day,” said he, 
“ and that man was Alfred Raymond, fit to be the Emperor 
of the whole world, now lost to his own land forever.” 

“You mean?” 

“ That he will return to the land from whence we 
brought him. There is now no power on earth that can 
hold him, for Paul himself has severed the one and only 
tie that bound him to the land of his birth.” 

“ But,” persisted she, “ how can he go? You yourself 
have said that he is the Crown Prince ; he has acknowledged 
that he is the son of Charlotte of the North. He cannot go.” 

“ My mother, you do not know this man, you do not 
know this people of the West, nor can I tell you of them, 
beyond that they are the most wonderful race of men under 
the sun to-day. We of the old world to-day, with all our 
boasted superiority, are but poor grovellers in the dust 
while they are dwellers upon the heights; heights to which 
we, bound down by all our old, worn laws and customs, can 
never hope to attain.” 

“ My son,” said she, coldly, “ you speak not well of 
your country.” 

“ While I was in ignorance,” said he, “ I spake as I 
had been taught; now that I have seen this land and met 
this people, my honesty compels me to speak the truth.” 


34S My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ My son,” said she, “ I confess I do not understand 
you ; you speak in a strange manner ; in a manner not at all 
familiar to you; your words are the words of a stranger 
and an alien.” 

“ My mother, when I first returned to you I said that 
the old John of Ainhault was dead and that a new John of 
Ainhault lived, his life, his all, devoted to his new-found 
prince, and to-day, in the presence of that brilliant assem- 
blage, I spoke my vow of eternal fealty.” 

“ But, my son, you said that he, this man Alfred Ray- 
mond, would return to the land from whence he came. How 
then can you serve him ? ” She rose quickly to her feet 
and faced him, a sudden light flashing into her eyes. “ Your 
words ! ” exclaimed she, “ 4 To me the gates of Paradise 
have opened ! A Paradise from the gates of which a woman 
fairer than Clotho herself stands and beckons me to enter/ 
What mean you? Before, you have spoken of a woman. 
This woman, is she also of this land? You have sworn 
fealty to this man, and he will return to this land of which 
you rave. Tell me of your vow. What have you spoken? ” 

Again that rapt look seemed to irradiate his face and 
to startle her by its intensity. 

“ My words ? ” repeated he. 

“Yes,” said she, almost impatiently. Just at that mo- 
ment her eyes looked him up and down. She caught her 
breath as a startled look came into her face. 

“Your sword! Your belt!” she exclaimed, as her 
eyes slowly widened with a look of affright. “ You are in 
full uniform ! How have you dared to appear without 
them ? Where are they ? ” 

“ My sword is broken and with my belt lies at the feet 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


349 


of the Emperor, my allegiance to him and my country 
being severed forever.” 

“ John ! ” she screamed as she started forward, “ are 
you mad ? Like a poor crazed fool you prate of a paradise, 
of a wonderful woman ; John of Ainhault, who has come to 
be looked upon as almost a celibate, who would scarcecly 
look upon woman, now raves of a woman lovely beyond 
all women ; talks of a vow. Tell me,” said she, as, placing 
her hands upon his shoulders, she looked sharply into his 
face. “ I am your mother, and I would hear this vow, I 
would know of this woman.” 

“You would know of my vow? You would know of 
my sword? I broke it and lay it with my belt at the feet 
of the Emperor when he himself severed the only tie that 
bound this man Alfred Raymond to his own land, for to 
him I said, ‘ I herewith sever my allegiance to my country 
and to you, for I go with this man, vowing to him that, 
his land shall be my land ; his destiny shall be my destiny ; 
his God shall be my God.” 

As he continued, slowly the color faded from the face 
of the Archduchess, leaving it cold and white. 

“ Your words, my mother, are indeed true, for love for 
woman, aside from the love he bears to his mother, has 
before never entered into the life of John of Ainhault. But 
now a woman, fair as the dawn, pure as the snow, has 
suddenly entered my life and for her I would forfeit all 
that life holds dear, could I win her for my own.” 

“And this woman?” said she, coldly. 

“ Is Margaret Raymond, daughter of the woman who 
made Alfred Raymond all that he is to-day, and the woman 
who delivered him, a sacred charge, into my care and keep- 


350 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

ing, and to whom I would soon render a faithful and 
happy accounting of her trust.” 

Miriam of Ainhault never faltered, for well she knew 
that the man before her was not to be dealt with as a 
child; well she knew that he was his father’s as well as 
his mother’s son, therefore, whatever she did she must do 
carefully and well. Quickley she gathered her forces and 
arranged them for the battle she knew was to come; and 
so to that end she determined to strike quickly and deep. 

“ You say you love this man, that you love this woman, 
and yet, like a deadly serpent, you would strike him through 
the sister whom he idolizes, and degrade the woman whom 
you say you love by making her your mistress.” 

Low, level and deadly was the tone she used, and the 
force of her words fairly staggered him, and for a moment 
he reeled and his face became livid. 

A dead silence rested between them, then slowly he 
pulled himself together, realizing that before him was a 
struggle, a struggle even unto death. The words of Alfred 
Raymond were still ringing in his ears above the voice 
of his mother. “ Was it love that prompted that black 
crime ? ” At the remembrance of those words he drew 
himself up proudly to his full height, and returned the 
cold, icy look of his mother with such a look of deep 
solemnity that her splendid courage began to falter. 

“ My mother,” said he, and his voice thrilled with a 
tone of sadness, “ God indeed forgive you for such a 
thought, for if Margaret Raymond comes not to me as my 
lawfully wedded wife before God and man, then John of 
Ainhault goes unwed and childless to his grave.” 

The Archduchess struggled hard to retain her com- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 351 

posure as she thus suddenly found herself face to face with 
the struggle, with maternal love upon one side, and a 
tradition as long, almost as time itself, upon the other, 
yet she held herself steadily and well in hand as she replied, 
“ Is it necessary for me to say to you that the princes of 
the royal houses of Carona and Polen do not wed the 
daughters of American farmers ? ” Her voice was low and 
bitter ; then she added, “ A prince may love where he will, 
but he can marry only where he must.” 

“ Man's words,” replied her son. “ Only man's 
words.” Then he roused him up suddenly. “ Who is 
man, and what are his laws as set over against the Divine 
law?” 

“ The Divine law ! ” exclaimed she. “ What do you 
mean ? ” 

“ ‘ Therefore shall a man leave his father and his 
mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be 
one flesh,’ ” was the deep, solemn reply. 

“ Your words ” said she. 

“ Are from the Divine Word itself, and I, my mother, 
do scarcely need to remind you of whom they were 
spoken; and if God himself pronounced such approval 
upon His own handiwork, has He changed in this our day 
and age? And will you say to me that He does not set 
His Divine approval upon His works of to-day as He did 
in the Eden of long ago? You are my mother, and a good 
woman and I would ask you to answer me this. The Holy 
Word says that ‘ He is the same yesterday, to-day and for- 
ever; you believe in Him.” 

Involuntarily she bowed. 

It was not a question, it was an affirmation from which 


352 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

she saw no way of escape. All of her plans began suddenly 
to totter. Only tradition seemed to hold, so she grasped it 
firmly, but as he continued she felt her hands becoming 
loosened from their hold upon even it. 

“ And, believing in Him and His Word, will you tell 
me that He has changed, and that man-made laws have 
superseded His? If you will tell me that He is changed, 
that the truth of that day is a truth no more, that man’s 
laws are the only sure and safe laws to follow and trust, 
then John of Ainhault will add his voice to the cry of the 
present age : ‘ Away with the old, bring forward the new.’ 

If you will tell me this then I — : — yes ” said he, after 

a pause, “ I will yield even my love for this woman who 
is life itself to me.” 

“ But the traditions of our house,” said she, trying to 
evade his question. 

“ Traditions of our house,” said he, “what are they? 
Listen, my mother, to the words of Alfred Raymond to the 
Emperor Paul : ‘ Who and what are you ? A man-made 

emperor. Have you ever for one moment tried to realize 
the genuine loftiness and nobility to which this people 
have elected your house?’ From that election our tradi- 
tions have come. ‘ Have you ever esteemed the great privi- 
lege you enjoy at the hands of your God and Creator?’ 
In that privilege our house has its source.” 

“ He said that to the Emperor ? ” said she. “ And 
what did he, Paul, say?” 

“ He answered not a word.” 

“ My son, your words have smitten my soul and my 
tongue seems dumb. All of my woman’s instinct and train- 
ing cry out for the traditions and laws of my life that have 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 353 

become as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, but 
with only one blow you have shattered them, and I stand 
helpless amid the ruins. How or with what words shall I 
answer you? You say that you will go with this man, that 
his destiny shall be your destiny, his land shall be your 
land, his God shall be your God.” She sank slowly upon 
a divan and letting her arms drop upon the velvet rest 
she added low and bitterly, “ For Miriam, Archduchess of 
Ainhault and Princess of Polen, has borne and reared a 
traitor.” 

John of Ainhault caught his breath through clenched 
teeth. His mother had struck and the blow went deep. She 
was fighting, fighting desperately, and she felt that this 
was not the time to stop to weigh or pause to consider. 

“ My mother,” said he, “ Helen of Bayronne sold that 
beautiful body of hers for the position Henry, Prince of 
Hundreveldt, could give her ; the law legalized that union, 
and the church sanctioned it ; but will you tell me that 
that made it right in the sight of God? Your doors have 
been closed to him these many years; will you open them 
to him now? The circle of every great and respectable 
family has shut him out for long, long time, then think 
you she can with a legalized prostitution open those homes 
to him, and at the same time wipe out the stain from her 
own fair name? I scarcely think so. We affect to despise 
the unspeakable Turk who buys his wives, but wherein 
are we so much superior, for do we not traffic in women’s 
bodies almost, if not quite as openly and as shamelessly 
as he? We send our ambassadors to a foreign court, and 
desire the hand and body of its daughter for the heir to 
our house that he may perpetuate our line, but how about 


354 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the heart? They, too, I suppose, may love where they will 
but can only wed where they must ; and then the priest pro- 
nounces the Benediction after saying : ‘ Whom God hath 

joined together/ ” 

He stopped, and the silence was oppressive. Then he 
continued, low and intensely, “ How dare we say, ‘ Whom 
God hath joined together/ upon that? It seems to me that 
God has very little to do with it. It seems to me that 
we have come to the time when we are saying that we can 
do without the Almighty God. We, that is our great cor- 
porations, and the monied men that compose them, are say- 
ing, ‘ We do not need You any more for we now have the 
brains, or if we have not, we have the money to buy them 
with, so we can get along without You, so to that end 
we appoint ourselves to be leaders in a Holy War, and 
become rulers of the whole world, and we will now pro- 
ceed to set ourselves up in Your place, so You can step aside 
for us/ 

“ Then we build ships, great ships that will over- 
ride every storm, every obstacle; they shall be absolutely 
unsinkable, indestructible. And so, to that end we call 
upon our brains and our money, and the great ship is 
built. 

“ Now, a snowflake is a very small matter; one rests 
upon the hand, a breath of air and it floats away ; an atom 
of frost is infinitely less than a snowflake and yet enough 
of atoms of frost are brought together and the mighty ice- 
berg is formed.” 

The Archduchess could not help but listen. She was 
being carried away from herself, while her son went on. 

“ The great ship leaves port laden with its precious 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 355 

cargo of human lives. She will override every storm ; she 
will surmount every obstacle; while the Book says He is 
All and in All. Then if He is All, and in All, is He not in 
every storm? Is He not every storm? So the great ship 
will override Him, Himself? Well, no storm rises but the 
great icefloe is there. Why at the psychological time ? She 
does not rush upon it, not like an engine of destruction, but! 
smoothly, silently almost, yet surely, she runs afoul the 
great obstruction and her own sufficiency, her own great- 
ness, her own absolute perfection, compass her destruction. 
And God was and still is God. 

“ Mother mine, your words were bitter that said that 
Miriam of Polen had bred a traitor. But the great ship of 
state of this land of ours is rushing swiftly upon the destruc- 
tive rocks of ambition, trickery and licentiousness, and 
would you deem it the act of a traitor to forsake an engine 
of self-destruction and seek to save that which might be 
made a life of usefulness and blessing? You have yet not 
answered my questions ; I will still ask another. 

“ A prince, you say, may love where he will, but can 
marry only where he must. Did you, my mother, the proud, 
beautiful Miriam of Polen, marry only where you must, 
while you still loved where you would? And must John of 
Ainhault blush for a father's sin and a mother’s shame ? ” 

Like a flash the Archduchess sprang to her feet, her 
face white, her eyes blazing, her splendid form drawn 
rigidly erect. 

“ John, John! My son! What are you saying? 
What do you mean ? ” 

“ What do I mean ? ” said he, “ I mean did you come 
to my father’s house and arms while your heart dwelt with 


356 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


another, and did he receive you when his soul was joined 
in love to some one else’s, so that to-day John of Ainhault 
is as Berthold of Rutheven, son of Mary of Rutheven ? ” 
“ Berthold of Rutheven,” cried she shrilly, “ Berthold 
of Rutheven is a ” 

“ Bastard,” said he interrupting her. “ Let me say it 
for you, for the word sounds not well coming from your 
lips; but you have not yet answered to my questions. You 
surely do not fear to answer to the truth ? ” 

The Archduchess drew herself to her full height, and an 
imposing, splendid figure she was, as she looked her son 
full in the face. 

At the look he saw there, the heavy gloom of his face 
broke and a soft light played over the shadow that had 
rested there. Then she spoke. “ When I wed John of 
Ainhault, I followed the dictates of my heart and wed where 
I loved,” and her face became radiant with the love light 
that streamed from her eyes as she continued, “ and I 
know that he loved me ; and you, my son, are the child God 

gave to us, the child of a pure and holy love, so ” 

But suddenly she found herself crushed to the great 
heart of John of Ainhault, and her eyes became misty as she 
heard the deep, heartfelt ejaculation, “Thank God!” that 
came from his lips. 

“ Now I am answered,” said he, “ for now I know 

that the mother of John of Ainhault ” 

But the remark was not completed, for just at that 
moment there came a knock at the door. 

Upon being bidden an attendant entered who announced 
that Col. Miron was below and desired to see His Highness, 
the young Archduke. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 357 

“ Col. Miron,” said the young man, “ bid him enter 
here.” 

As the attendant withdrew, the Archduchess turned to 
her son and said anxiously, “ My son, do you suppose this 
visit of Col. Miron has to do with this wretched affair of 
the Emperor?” 

But before he could reply the door opened and Col. 
Miron entered and saluted John of Ainhault, bowed low 
as he touched his lips to the hand held out to him by the 
Archduchess who bade him be seated. 

“ You have come from the Emperor? ” said the young 
Archduke. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” was the reply. 

“And His Majesty?” said the' Archduchess. 

“ Is well and resting comfortably,” said Col. Miron. 

John of Ainhault and his mother looked sharply at their 
visitor as the former said, “ Well and resting comfortably, 
Miron? I do not quite understand you.” And now he 
noticed that Col. Miron seemed to be laboring under some 
strongly suppressed excitement. 

“After the remarkable scene of this afternoon,” con- 
tinued John of Ainhault, “ I can scarcely comprehend how 
His Majesty can be resting comfortably; when I left him he 
seemed upon the verge of a complete collapse; since that 
time — ” 

“ The Emperor has been with his son, and — ” 

“ Has been with his son ! ” exclaimed both his listeners, 
as all three rose to their feet impelled by the startling 
announcement. 

“ Miron ! ” exclaimed John of Ainhault. “ What do 
you mean by saying that the Emperor has been with his son? 


358 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

When I left the Imperial presence, he, the Crown Prince, 
Alfred Raymond, although acknowledging himself the son 
of the Empress, had repudiated the Emperor as his father, 
and so had declared himself free ; free to return to the land 
from whence he had come.” 

Both the young Archduke and his mother were greatly 
excited. 

Miron bowed. “ True, Your Highness, but immediately 
almost, when the great throne room was emptied — ” 

“ Emptied! ” exclaimed John of Ainhault. 

“Yes,” continued Col. Miron, “almost at once'all de- 
parted leaving the Emperor and myself alone. At first he 
seemed to scarcely realize all that had taken place, then 
gradually the full meaning of it all began slowly to come 
back to him and as the meaning of the words of the Crown 
Prince began to unfold themselves to his dazed mind, he 
suddenly woke to the full significance of the situation, and 
demanded to be taken at once to him whom he now for the 
first acknowledged and called his son.” 

“ Miron ! ” said the Archduchess. “ The Emperor now 
recognized him as his son and demanded to be taken to 
him? Not for a continuation of the scene that has already 
taken place? Where, oh, where will this wretched affair 
end ? ” cried she in deep anxiety. 

“ The end has already come,” was the reply. 

John of Ainhault caught the speaker by the arm as he 
said, “ Miron ! Tell us, tell us all that has taken place ! Tell 
us what you mean by saying that the end has already come.” 

The excitement was intense. 

“Will you not be seated, Madame? Sir?” said Miron, 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 359 

bowing first to the Archduchess and then to her son. “ My 
story, I fear, will go but slowly, and may take long.” 

Thereupon they resumed their seats and Col. Miron 
related the wonderful scene that had taken place between 
Alfred Raymond and the Emperor in the apartments of the 
Empress. 

Surprise, astonishment, incredulity, followed each other 
in rapid succession as the picture was portrayed to them in 
bold, sharp outlines by the crisp words of Cob Miron. At 
first they were almost stunned by the recital. At last, the 
Archduchess, unable longer to restrain her overwrought 
mind, exclaimed, “At the feet of his son! Miron? This is 
unheard of ! Almost unbelievable ! ” 

“ Madame,” said he with a low bow, “ had I not seen 
it with mine own eyes, I should scarcely have believed it! 
And, continued he,” looking intently in her face, “ Your 
Highness also remembers the words of Her Majesty the 
Empress.” 

The face of the Archduchess grew slowly white, as 
involuntarily the words, “ I will lay your face in the dust 
as you have lain mine in the dust,” fell from her lips. 

“ And they have literally come true, Miron ? ” ques- 
tioned she, while John of Ainhault remained speechless with 
astonishment. 

“They have. Your Highness,” replied he, “for the 
face of the mighty Paul lay upon the very ground, praying 
for pardon at the feet of his son.” 

“ And that pardon ! ” exclaimed John of Ainhault, “ was 
it granted ? ” 

l( The Crown Prince’s own words, Miron ! ” interrupted 
the Archduchess. “What were they?” 


360 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Both hung breathless upon the reply; every nerve 
stretched to the utmost, for upon that reply the destiny of 
so many rested, in fact the entire destiny of a great nation. 

The two watchers were startled by the look of deep joy 
that irradiated the features of the grim old warrior as he, 
in a low, clear voice, repeated the words of Alfred Raymond. 
“ I forgive you, my father, even as I hope that God for 
Christ’s sake will one day forgive me.” 

“ And you will not leave me ? You will stay with me? ” 
As he repeated the words of the Emperor, the scene came 
before them with startling distinctness, intensified by the 
reply of the Crown Prince, Alfred Raymond. 

" I will not leave you, my father, I will stay with you.” 

The voice of Col. Miron ceased, there was no sound 
through the great, luxurious room. 

The Archduchess sat motionless, her hands pressed 
hard against her eyes from which the hot tears were 
streaming. 

John of Ainhault stood as if turned to stone. His own 
words were rolling back upon him with a terribly new mean- 
ing. “ His land shall be my land, his destiny shall be my 
destiny, his God shall be my God.” John of Ainhault had 
sealed his own doom. When he spoke that vow in the 
presence of that great company of men, impelled by his deep 
devotion to this man, moved by his mighty love for Margaret 
Raymond and her country, there had come to him no faintest 
intuition that he had bound himself body and soul to his 
own land, and irrevocably severed every bond that might 
help to gain this peerless woman for his wife. 

When Alfred Raymond had refused to believe that he 
was the son of the Emperor, and heir to the greatest Empire 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 361 

in the world, he, John of Ainhault, had wondered how any 
man could scorn such a fact. It had seemed to him that any 
man must welcome such information with unbounded de- 
light. He could not understand why this man did not. Now 
he understood. Now he knew. He was passing through 
his revelation, and that revelation was ringing in his soul, 
in clarion like tones, the death knell of all his hopes. 

Col. Miron looked upon that rigid, silent figure, and 
the soul of the old warrior agonized for the splendid young 
life before him, for he too had been in that land and had 
seen those people, and had come to know the sister of 
Alfred Raymond, and the grand old warrior had read well 
between the lines; and now he was compelled to stand 
silently by and watch that splendid great heart break, for 
Margaret Raymond and John of Ainhault now seemed as 
irrevocably separated as the East is from the West. 

“ Miron,” the Archduchess shaded her face with her 
hand as she spoke, “ you said that the Emperor was resting 
in his apartments and that the Crown Prince, after having 
acknowledged him as his father, had consented to remain. 
Did I understand you aright? ” 

John of Ainhault, hearing his mother’s voice and ques- 
tion, waited anxiously for the reply. 

“ Yes, Your Highness, it is as I said,” replied Col. 
Miron. “ For after having conducted the Emperor to his 
own apartments, he, the Crown Prince, sent for me and 
desired me to accompany him here.” 

“ Here ! ” exclaimed the Archduchess and her son in 
the same breath. 

“ Yes, Madame; yes, Your Highness,” said he; he had 
been told of the words of him of Ainhault to the Emperor 


362 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

and so he desired to see yourself at once,” said he, addressing 
the young Archduke, “ and also,” said he, turning to the 
Archduchess, “ he particularly desired to meet the mother 
of John of Ainhault, and the friend of his noble, sainted 
mother.” Miron bowed low as he spoke. 

“ Where is he ? ” said the Archduchess as she rose 
from the place where she had been sitting. 

“ In the oaken room, adjoining the great salon below. 
He desired to wait there while I should relate to you all 
that had transpired between the Emperor and himself,” 
said Col. Miron. 

“ Take me to him,” said she. 

John of Ainhault stepped forward and she laid her 
hand in his outstretched palm; Col. Miron bowed low and 
saluted, for Miriam, Archduchess of Ainhault and Princess 
of Polen, was a very great and gracious woman and greatly 
beloved and respected by all. In fact she was often looked 
upon as the mother of the future Emperor. 

At the foot of the beautiful marble staircase she 
stopped for a moment in visible agitation. Then she asked 
to go on alone; John of Ainhault and Col. Miron coming 
on behind. 

Thus proceeding they came about half way across the 
great salon, a room royal in its magnificence. There she 
stopped as the two men came and stood upon either side 
of her. 

The doors of the oaken parlor rolled back and the 
figure of a man came through to meet her, and raising her 
eyes she found herself looking into a startlingly handsome 
face, lit with grand golden-gray eyes, above which clustered 
a mass of waving golden-brown hair. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 363 

For a moment she stood spellbound. The years 
seemed to have rolled back. Again she was looking into 
the face of that beautiful Northern Princess, Charlotte of 
the North. 

She took a step forward. Her arms were held out 
as over the stillness of the great room her voice rang out 
with a glad cry. “ Charlotte’s son ! Charlotte’s son ! Boy ! 
Boy ! ” said she, using the old, familiar, endearing name 
Margaret Raymond had given him. “Welcome! A thou- 
sand times welcome to my heart and home ! ” 

Back, dear reader; back with me. Let us close the 
door. Gently, Gently, Quickly, Quickly. Let us not in- 
trude. Let us turn aside and pass on. Alfred Raymond 
was learning that hearts are hearts whether carried by 
royal prince or simple man ; that love was love whether in 
farthest East or distant West. That he was slowly but 
surely coming into his own. His Land. His Country. 
His Home. 


364 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


CHAPTER XXII 

The excitement continued to grow. Up and down the 
streets of the Imperial city of Carodina the wildest rumors 
flew. 

Rumors, rumors, rumors. No man could say from 
whence they came, but all could say where they found 
lodgment, for the minds of all were as open receptacles, 
eagerly grasping all that came within reach. 

Rumors that came, rumors that went, rumors that 
grew as they went flying all abroad swiftly almost, as the 
light. 

Whence came they? 

Everywhere, nowhere. 

Whither did they go? 

The same reply; everywhere, nowhere. 

They say 

Who say? 

Why everybody, nobody. 

And so it continued until it seemed that the great city 
was almost in convulsions over the unknown uncertainties 
that had reduced the inhabitants to a state bordering upon 
frenzy. 

“ The death of the Crown Prince Raoul/’ 

“ Ah! Call him not the Crown Prince; for thou know- 
est right well that he was Walther’s son.” 

“ Yes, Walther,” said another. “ Had he not ought 
to be strangled in a ditch, or hanged upon the highest 
gibbet, for had he not brought all this to pass ? ” 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 365 

“What for?” said a stranger who chanced to hear. 

“ Why, had he not stolen the son of their beautiful, 
beloved Empress away, and carried him to that new, wild 
land of the West and tried to put his own son upon the 
throne?” 

“Yes,” said another, eager to be heard. “And had it 
not been found out when Raoul had been killed? And 
had not Col. Miron and John of Ainhault been sent to that 
far country to bring him back ? ” 

“ And they say that he came, a half wild man, for no 
man dared to cross him ” 

“ Go to ! ” said the first speaker. “ Who said he was 
half wild? Best curb thy tongue lest it bring thee into 
trouble.” 

And so the words ran from mouth to mouth; and now 
the great reception was over. The great companies of the 
Imperial Guard, the Crown Prince’s company and the 
Marines had come from the palace, and a superb sight they 
were; but every man had been dumb. No man would tell 
aught of that scene. 

In the Crown Prince’s company were some of Raoul’s 
close companions, but they, when questioned, had turned 
pale and had remained silent. 

Yet there were strange rumors afloat. Rumors that 
the new Crown Prince had boldly confronted the Emperor 
and had refused to acknowledge him as his father. 

Rumors that he had dismissed all of the attendants 
appointed to wait upon him. 

Rumors that Prince Vladimer and the wild set who 
had been Raoul’s companions had been refused admission 


366 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

to his presence, until ’twas being whispered about that the 
new Crown Prince feared to meet them. 

As the latter rumor grew, Raoul’s party began to take 
heart, for if the new man was so lacking in courage, he 
would become the easier prey to them. 

At the time of the sudden death of Raoul, a new and 
powerful party had risen, headed by the old Count of Zetta, 
father of the beautiful young Countess of Zetta, who had 
striven by every means in his power to effect a union be- 
tween his daughter and the Crown Prince, hoping to, in 
time, place her upon the throne as Empress and thereby, 
in time, get control of the Empire of Carona, and as Raoul 
was in every way playing directly into their hands, the 
success of their plans seemed assured when the death of 
Raoul completely checkmated them and left them crushed 
and helpless. 

Upon the return of the rightful heir to the throne, 
they had remained passive, for they were as the rest, com- 
pletely at sea. 

Their inability to learn, with any degree of certainty, 
any details of the scene which took place in the throne 
room when the real heir had been brought before the Em- 
peror, had succeeded in leaving them in a completely pros- 
trate position. 

The repeated refusals of the Crown Prince to allow 
any of Raoul’s party to be admitted to his presence, had 
created the rumor of his supposed timidity. 

But sooner or later he would be compelled to show 
himself, sooner or later he would have to come before 
them. Well, if he were as they said, it would be strange 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 3 67 

indeed could they not find ways and means of still carrying 
out their plans. 

And now this new rumor; ’twas being said all about 
that the Emperor had issued orders for a court reception 
and ball. 

The word spread like wildfire. Instantly the greatest 
preparations began, for no one knew who would be bidden. 
Robes, the most gorgeous that gold could purchase, were 
ordered. The jewelers were simply overwhelmed with 
work. 

An army of workmen were at the palace, almost trans- 
forming it for the occasion. 

And through it all, not once had the Crown Prince 
been seen outside the palace walls. 

Why had he not shown himself? Was it indeed true 
that he feared to be seen of or to see his father’s people? 
His attitude was inexplicable. In fact, they were at a loss 
to discover any attitude at all. 

One day, in the midst of the excitement, the liner The 
Emperor Paul, came into port, and before unloading her 
cargo, they led down one of her great gang-planks a 
superbly beautiful mare with a coat that shone like golden 
satin in the sunlight. 

Coming out in the open square from the docks, she 
stopped, and lifting her beautiful head high, she threw 
back her splendid mane, like a cloud, and called. The ring- 
ing, clear call of the exquisite beast was almost indescrib- 
able; then she turned as if to listen, but no answer came. 

Wh;at did she expect? In her poor, brute brain, did 
she think that some of her mates from that wonderful land 
of the West would reply? 


368 My Land . My Country. My Home. 

The groom patted her gently and smoothed her silken 
locks, then she permitted him to lead her away. She was 
wonderful ! Superb ! She seemed all fire and life and air ; 
she seemed scarcely to touch the ground, so light and elastic 
was her step. Many an eye turned and looked longingly 
upon her. 

They went toward the palace. Twice she stopped and 
the groom waited when she lifted up her exquisite head 
and sent out that clear, ringing call, waiting each time as if 
for a reply; still no reply came. 

Alfred was standing upon the stone balcony beneath 
the great windows of the Empress’ salon, when he heard 
the sound of horse’s hoofs ringing up from the pavement. 
He turned to look, then gave a start of surprise. He leaned 
forward, his hands grasping the stone balustrade tightly; 
his breath coming in sharp gasping sobs, for out there in 
all her exquisite beauty was standing Golden Betty. 

He turned and walked quickly through the great salon 
to the corridor beyond. Hurrying along the splendid pas- 
sage to the grand staircase, he ran down, his pace quicken- 
ing as he went, then on through the pillared entrance to 
the great doorway, he passed to the massive marble stair- 
case before the entrance ; a staircase that would easily hold 
ten thousand men. 

Coming to the front of the magnificent, balcony-like 
portico, he signaled the man to stop; then he spoke in a 
quiet voice, directing him to remove the bridle from the 
mare. The man looked in wondering surprise but made 
no move to comply. Alfred made a quick motion with his 
hands, whereupon the man loosed the buckles and .remov- 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 369 

ing the straps from the beautiful head the mare stood en- 
tirely free from all restraint. 

Alfred ran down the great flight of steps and stopped 
at the bottom. His hand was in the pocket of the short 
coat he wore; he stood for a moment, then he whistled. 
The mare turned at that sound and trotted up the broad 
avenue toward him. She moved as if impelled by some 
wonderful force. Her action was perfect. In the sun- 
light her coat shone like polished satin. Her nostrils 
quivered and dilated ; her eyes flashed and glowed ; the light 
breeze tossed her silken mane and forelock like a beautiful 
veil. 

Alfred held out his hand, upon it lay a white cube; 
he spoke, she came up with a glad, low whicker and rubbing 
her velvety nose against his arm, began to coax ’for the 
sugar. 

He caught her beautiful head to him ; as he encircled 
her exquisitely arched neck with his arms, and as his face 
lay against the satin smoothness of her, and the smell of her 
sleek, clean body filled his nostrils, it came to him as a 
message from the land he loved so passionately and which 
now seemed lost to him forever. 

She came to him like a sweet breath from the plains 
of her birth with their wonderful, healing, life-giving 
virtues and his grand, gray eyes grew misty with tenderness 
and longing. 

He fondled and caressed her as she crunched the 
sweets between her strong, white teeth, talking to her in a 
low voice, she rubbing her soft lip against his pale cheek, 
where a faint glow of color began to show. 


370 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

She had come to him like a message from the past, 
the past that he had begun to feel was ended for him for 
all time. Yet, somehow, she seemed like a link that had 
suddenly appeared, and in some indefinable way disclosed 
the slender golden cord that still bound him to the past. 

A new light seemed to burn within his eyes; a new 
look of hope replaced the sad, hopeless one that had dwelt 
there before. 

The rising of this incident had sufficed to show him 
that the past still lived and that he was still connected with 
it. 

After a little he bade the groom come nearer, and with 
his own hands he adjusted the straps and leads, removing 
the cards that were attached, which he slipped into the 
pocket of his coat, smoothing out the silky forelock, after 
which he directed the man to take her av/ay. 

He stood and watched until they had passed from view, 
then turning, he slowly retraced his steps to the Empress’ 
apartments, his mind busied so that he did not see the mag- 
nificence through which he passed, nor was he scarcely con- 
scious of the homage paid him as he passed along. 

Upon regaining the privacy of his own apartments his 
hand unconsciously slipped into the pocket of his coat and 
touched the cards. He drew them out and looked at them 
almost idly; only a moment, and his gaze concentrated, his 
breath came quickly, all over him came those little, cold, 
shivery feelings. 

What was it ? 

Only a small square of tough pasteboard, yet it wrought 
a startling change in the man. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


37i 


Shipped by 

Henry Richards 
(CT) to Alfred Raymond 

Imperial Palace 

Carodina 
Carona. 


to which was fastened a second. 


Received of 

Peter VanDyke 

$153.00 One hundred and fifty three dollars 
Article One sorrel mare 

John Worrel 

Ag.t. 


Again he felt the warm, firm clasp of those strong 
hands, again their rich cordiality seemed to flood his whole 
being, the aloneness that had weighed him down, that had 
stifled him, was dispelled. God was still in His Heaven 
and all would be right ! 

And now the night of the Imperial Reception and Ball 
had arrived. Within the royal palace presented a scene 
that rivaled that of Aladdin’s itself. The magnificent pile 
was ablaze with light from top to bottom; the immense 
sweep of the steps up to the great marble-pillared portico, 
which was now entirely enclosed in an ivory-colored cover- 
ing, was brilliantly lighted, and from without presented a 
wondrous and striking appearance from the brilliant lights 
within, which gave it a marvelously opaline appearance. 


(CT) 


37 2 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Within the magnificently immense throne room the 
scene was one of incomparable brilliancy and beauty. 

The Emperor, clad in black coat, white satin waist- 
coat and trousers that disappeared in glossy, black hip- 
boots, his breast ablaze with diamond-studded orders, wear- 
ing his splendid jeweled sword and belt, his head uncovered, 
looking more than ever Imperial, stood before the great 
ebony throne. 

The Archduchess Miriam at his left and standing be- 
fore the ivory throne of the Empress, appeared almost 
symbolic. Her robe of flame-colored yellow, from the 
folds of which tongues of living flame seemed to spring, 
was literally ablaze with diamonds and topaz, while the 
coronet above her stately brows seemed to be ablaze with 
living fire. She looked like life, aye, new life itself rising 
from the flames. 

But it was upon the splendid figure at her left that the 
greatest interest was centered. 

The excitement had been at almost breaking point; 
what would he be like, this new Prince of which so much 
had been said and yet so little was or had been known. 

Of fact or detail there had been so little, in fact, now 
that they thought of it, none. Now they remembered that 
there had been no picture or resemblance formed in the 
mind. There remained only a blank. 

In the spotless white uniform of the Crown Prince’s 
company, as John of Ainhault, who stood beside him, he pre- 
sented no striking picture except for the contrast with the 
gorgeously appareled figures of the Emperor and the Arch- 
duchess. 

The great assembly that had been bidden had nearly all 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 373 

passed the throne and each in turn had been presented to the 
new Crown Prince. 

They had assembled eagerly, expectant, looking for, 
they knew not what, and then had come the presentation 
itself. They had looked into that startlingly handsome face, 
and then into those grand golden-gray eyes and over all had 
come that strange feeling of bewilderment, almost of awe. 

Among them were a few who remembered the Empress 
and they were astonished at the wonderful resemblance. 

Almost it seemed to them that the spirit of the mother 
looked from the eyes of her son. 

Now from the half-bewildered but brilliant assembly 
there broke a low exclamation. 

In the line approaching the throne was the black clad 
figure of a woman. Among the shimmering, dazzling robes 
of the others that one figure appeared with startling dis- 
tinctness. 

Her robe of deepest black was of rarest lace and swept 
away in splendid folds, which sparkled with innumerable 
points of finely cut jet. The corsage, low and sleeveless, dis- 
played a bust and arms of creamy fairness and absolutely 
flawless. A fine network of cut jet enhanced the beauty 
of the arms that tapered away to hands that would serve as 
a sculptor’s model. Above the splendid shoulders rose a neck 
round and firm as if chiselled from purest marble. The 
hair, black as midnight, was dressed high and gave in profile 
a singular Minerva-like look to the face, which was easily 
the most beautiful of any in that great assembly; the eyes, 
large, dark and full, seemed to hold immeasurable strength 
and purpose in their depths, but were now cunningly veiled 
by the long lashes that shaded them. 


374 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The face was oval in shape while the red lips between 
which the small white teeth showed were red as the heart of 
a crimson rose. 

A low whisper. Something like a thrill, and then — 

“ The Zetta.” 

The words seemed to come to the lips of every one 
present. No one spoke them, yet each seemed to hear them 
upon the lips of his neighbor, almost like a mental telepathy. 

Meanwhile the woman was approaching the throne, 
now she was bowing before the Emperor, who was smiling 
upon her with a strange inscrutable smile. 

The Archduchess Miriam was holding a bouquet of 
white orchids in both hands and acknowledged the salutation 
of the beautiful young Countess with a slight inclination of 
the head and an almost imperceptible raising of the brows. 

“ The Countess Zetta.” 

The voice of the annunciator sounded with startling 
clearness over the great throng who were covertly watching. 

Just at that moment the great mass of orchids seemed 
to slip from the hands of the Archduchess. 

Quick as a flash Alfred flung out his right hand and 
caught the gold filagreed holder as the beautiful mass slowly 
slipped adown the front of her robe, extending his left hand 
to the Countess whose knee touched lightly the velvet rest 
at his feet at the same time. 

Then there ensued a slight pause. 

Alfred still held the orchids. After an almost imper- 
ceptible pause the Countess spoke: 

“Your left hand, Your Highness?” Her tones were 
honey sweet but back of them an intangible something that 
all who heard, felt. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 375 

“ My left hand, Countess,” the tone was low ; then after 
a short pause, “ nearest to where my heart is.” 

The grand golden-gray eyes were looking into the bril- 
liant-flashing dark ones of the woman kneeling below them. 
At something she saw there, she carried the hand to her 
forehead and then to her lips, as she replied with a meaning 
smile, “ Are the hand and heart then so closely allied, Your 
Highness? ” 

“ Closely, Countess, and neither are far from the head,” 
was the cold reply. 

The face of the kneeling woman turned white and for 
a moment the dark eyes blazed. 

“ Your pardon, Countess,” said he as he dismissed her. 
“ Sir John,” to an aide who was standing near by, and who 
immediately came forward and taking the hand of the Coun- 
tess assisted her to rise, while he turned his attention to the 
approaching line after having handed the orchids back to 
the Archduchess. 

The Countess turned away almost blind with rage; 
never before had she received such an affront. 

Being bidden, she had come almost exultant, for in the 
bidding from His Majesty, the Emperor, had seemed to 
have been embodied a desire to create a truce to the strained 
relation that had arisen over her great influence upon the 
Crown Prince, or supposed Crown Prince Raoul. For it 
was well known, and she herself knew that the Emperor was 
aware of her determination to wed the Crown Prince, and 
so come to the throne itself; and the struggle between her- 
self, aided and abetted by her father and his powerful 
family, and the Emperor, had been fierce and bitter. When 


376 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Raoul came to his death the battle had suddenly ceased for 
herself and her party had immediately become powerless. 

Upon hearing the rumor of the supposed timidity of 
the new Crown Prince, hope had again revived, particularly 
as she was one of the first to recieve bidding to be present 
when the Emperor should first introduce his son to his 
people. For to her the act of the Emperor took on a form 
of mediation; so with that interpretation of the Emperor’s 
message she had prepared her to try anew the battle that 
had seemingly been all but lost. 

And now, at the very outset to have received such an 
outrageous affront. 

Purposely she had delayed her arrival so that the great 
assembly of Carona’s most brilliant and powerful people 
should witness anew her triumph; for that this man whom 
they had called weak and timid could possibly withstand her 
allurements, had not once occurred to her. 

But instead he had humiliated her in the eyes of all. 
He had compelled her to salute his left hand. And all the 
world knew that the offering of the left hand was an open 
and public slight. 

He had offered to her no word even of friendly greet- 
ing, but on the contrary he had dismissed her with almost 
a warning that head and heart and hand were closely allied. 
What did he mean ? 

She looked again at that superb figure and into that 
handsome face. 

Why did her heart beat more quickly? She who had 
never been moved by any man. Why did she shiver as with 
cold? She who had never known fear. 

They had decieved her. This man was no coward. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 377 

Here was no weakling. She looked past him to the Emperor 
who was watching her with that strange, inscrutable smile. 

She looked away, she saw the covert looks, the signifi- 
cant smiles. She had been humiliated in the sight of all. 
Her rage grew ; but beating it down with an iron hand, she 
turned with a smile to some of her companions just as at a 
signal from the Emperor a great burst of music, barbarous 
in its splendor, rent the air. 

At that signal, a lady-in-waiting took the splendid bou- 
quet of the Archduchess as she laid her hands in the out- 
stretched hands of the Emperor and the Crown Prince, and 
stepped slowly down from the raised dais to the polished 
floor; pages in ivory white satin lifted the magnificent flame- 
colored court train, and moving forward she took the place 
for the opening dance, attended by the Emperor and his son. 

Alfred, representing the Emperor, now took his place at 
the right of the Archduchess while John of Ainhault, repre- 
senting the royal house of Polen, with one of the young 
Princesses took the position opposite. The cross positions 
being taken by Princes of two of the visiting royal houses 
with their Princesses, the royal set was complete ; ladies and 
gentlemen-in-waiting were grouped about and back of them 
were gathered the great assemblage with the Emperor stand- 
ing in the foreground, supported on the right by Col. Miron 
who represented the army and on the left by Admiral Sef- 
ton who represented the navy, both in full uniform. 

The scene was unequalled. 

The young and beautiful Countess of Zetta had been 
completely ignored in the arrangements of the royal set. 

While Raoul lived, the preference he had shown her 
and her father’s party had served as a means of influencing 


378 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

many of the noble and powerful families of seeking to re- 
main upon friendly footing with them, for many there were 
who believed that the party of the Countess would eventu- 
ally succeed and all knew that as empress she would become 
a power to be seriously considered, with the possibilty that 
in time she would succeed in gaining complete control over 
the rather weak and vascillating Raoul and thus obtain con- 
trol over the entire Empire. 

And s 6 there had been more or less speculation as to 
what and how much influence this party of Raoul’s would 
have over the new man. 

Almost at once, in the event before the throne that had 
already taken place, they had been answered. 

At the last court ball, Raoul, in taking the place of the 
Emperor, had arranged that the Countess was chosen by 
one of the visiting young princes, while Miriam of Ainhault 
had deputized one of her ladies-in-waiting to represent her 
as Raoul’s partner, she refusing to countenance his prefer- 
ence for the young Countess. 

The second slight offered to the young and beautiful 
woman, so openly, almost created a panic in the old Count’s 
party, and burning with a fierce almost ungovernable rage, 
the Countess saw the ground slipping from under her, leav- 
ing her and her party almost, if not quite helpless. 

For the time being she was completely forgotten and 
ignored, attention being centered upon the splendid, white 
clad figure moving through the stately figures of the dance 
with the Archduchess. 

The royal dance was finished. The Archduchess had, 
with the Emperor, retired to the seats upon the dais. Alfred, 
with John of Ainhault, began to mingle with the brilliant 


My Land. My Country. My Home. * 379 

company that now took possession of the floor. The picture 
became kaleidoscopic in its rapidly changing brilliancy and 
beauty. 

The half-wild strains of the semi-barbaric music 
seemed to entrance all with its peculiarly intoxicating power. 
A spirit of joyous revelry was abroad different in character 
and spirit from that which had characterized the former 
exceeding formal and ceremonious Imperial balls. 

A new spirit that all felt yet no one stopped to analyze 
or question. 

Suddenly out over the blare of brazen instruments, the 
tinkle of joyous laughter, there burst the report of a pistol. 
Within the confining walls of the room the sound was inten- 
sified a hundredfold. 

Alfred whirled like lightning toward the direction from 
which the sound came. 

Down upon the polished floor, upon one knee, was the 
black-clad figure of the Countess Zetta ; towering above her, 
his left hand clutching her right wrist in terribly twisted 
position, his right holding his sword aloft as if to strike, 
his face white with rage, while before them upon the floor 
lay the still smoking pistol, stood Col. Miron. 

About them a hundred swords were raised aloft as if to 
cut the woman to pieces. 

Between him and the woman the Emperor was being 
supported in the arms of two aides, his face ghastly pale, 
a jagged hole showing in his white satin waist-coat from 
which a few drops of blood were slowly trickling. 

Like a flash Alfred snatched his sword from the scab- 
bard and sprung forward. 

“ Stand back ! ” he thundered, as he beat down the up- 


380 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

raised swords before him. With one lightning-like blow he 
sent the upraised sword of Col. Miron clattering to the pol- 
ished floor. 

“ Miron ! ” said he, “ What does this mean? ” 

“ An attempt was made upon the life of Your High- 
ness, replied Col. Miron, who had released his hold upon 
the woman; through the silence his words were distinctly 
heard through the great room. “ The woman, crazed by 
anger and defeat, attempted to shoot Your Highness, when 
His Majesty flung himself forward and received the ball 
meant for you in his body.” 

Alfred hurried to the side of the Emperor who was 
sinking heavily to the floor. Looking up into the splendid 
face of his son he gasped, “ you — are — not — hurt, — my 
— son?” 

“ Quick ! ” said Alfred. “ Carry him to his apart- 
ments ! ” Then turning to Col. Miron he said, indicating 
the woman, “ she is your charge. I hold you responsible 
for her safety. If aught occurs, your own life shall pay 
the forfeit.” 

The tone was cold and cutting as steel. 

A murmur of protest arose. 

According to the unwritten law of the land the woman 
should have been hacked to pieces. 

At the sound those grand, golden-gray eyes swept over 
that angry, horror-stricken company, and the sullen murmur 
died away as quickly as it had risen ; as you have heard a 
wind in the trees rise and as suddenly die away ; like a wave 
that has spent itself upon the sandy, pebbly beach. 

In that lightning-like flash, the assembled company 
recognized that there was but one master there, and that 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 381 

man was Alfred Raymond, Crown Prince, son of the Em- 
peror Paul and heir to the Imperial throne of Carona. 


The great throne room was empty, the Imperial palace 
was silent. Dull lights only burned where all had been 
brilliancy before. 

Sentries on guard stood silent and grim. 

Attendants, soundless, flitted to and fro. 

In the streets of the great city the people waited pa- 
tiently for any message that might come from the apart- 
ments of the Emperor, where a desparate battle was being 
waged. A battle with the most skilled and best surgeons 
of Europe upon one side and grim, ghastly death upon the 
other. 

As the first rays of light broke over the eastern horizon 
they looked long and earnestly toward that magnificent 
marble pile. They lifted their eyes above the great, pillared 
portico. A slight breeze stirred. A flag floated at half-mast. 

The mighty Paul, Emperor of the greatest empire in 
the world, had paid his debt. He had given his life for his 
son. He could do no more. From the waiting multitude 
there went up a great sigh as each turned to his own 
dwelling. 

Paul the Emperor they had feared and obeyed. But 
Paul the man who had given his life for the son of their 
beloved Empress, they revered and regretted. 

But time, the great Physician, the great healer, the one 
mighty power in destinies, moved steadily on. He waited 
not on king or commoner, beggar or lord. 


382 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Paul was laid to rest with his fathers and the great 
wheels of state rolled steadily on. 

The days of mourning were ended and on the morrow 
they would crown as Emperor, Alfred Raymond. For, 
“ The King is dead : long live the King ! ” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


383 


CHAPTER XXIII 

The great cathedral of Carodina was literally packed 
to its utmost capacity. The scene was the most gorgeous 
ever brought to the eyes of man. 

Owing to the unparalleled circumstances accompany- 
ing the entire affair, the rulers of all the neighboring coun- 
tries that were represented at the Imperial Court of Carona 
had insisted upon being present in person as far as was 
possible, so that each, with his or her retinue in full dress 
and regalia, seemed to present a more brilliant and dazzling 
appearance than those who had gone before as they were 
conducted to the position assigned them. 

The Herculean task of arranging that gorgeous com- 
pany had been accomplished. 

Alfred Raymond, clad in white and gold, with the mag- 
nificent Imperial ermine-lined robe of ruby velvet clasped 
to his splendid shoulders, had been crowned with the match- 
less jewelled crown of the Imperial Carona. As he re- 
peated the oath of allegiance that bound him to this, his 
father’s land, there broke from the thousands of throats 
present such an acclamation as caused the great church to 
tremble to her deepest foundation. 

At that sound, from the lofty tower boomed forth a 
single gun which announced the welcome tidings to the 
waiting people without. 

Immediately from that almost numberless multitude a 
mighty roar of acclamation went up. 

As the sound died away the great organ pealed forth 


384 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

the national anthem, and at once the vast army of instru- 
mentalists stationed above, joined and soon from all throats 
pealed forth such a volume of harmony as seemed to rock 
the massive walls. 

As the last note died away within, from without was 
heard the familiar melody slowly receding farther and far- 
ther away in the distance; the effect was indescribable, 
inconceivable. 

As the last note died away, Alfred the Emperor lifted 
the jewelled crown from his head and an attendant placed 
it upon its velvet cushion near. 

Immediately eight pages stepped forward and lifted 
the massive Imperial robe as he stepped to the entrance of 
the chancel, then slowly down the nave of the church he 
went to the entrance where the great robe was removed, 
then out into the bright sunlight, carrying his visor upon 
his arm. 

The Imperial Guard, with Col. Miron in command, 
quickly took their position at the head, a brilliant, glittering 
array. 

The Crown Prince's company came next in line with 
an aide holding the beautiful sorrel in readiness. Quickly 
the Emperor passed down the great flight of steps and 
mounting, took his place at their head. 

Amid the shouts of acclamation the great cavalcade 
formed and passed on its triumphant way through the 
beautiful streets of Carodina. The new-made Emperor, his 
head uncovered, acknowledged the plaudits of his people as 
cheer upon cheer broke from all sides. 

Every available foot of space was utilized, balconies 
were crowded. Windows seemed fair bursting with hu- 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 385 

manity, the house-tops all along the way were filled. Joy- 
ous, happy life was rampant everywhere. 

Never before had the beautiful Imperial city of Caro- 
dina witnessed such a scene. 

As the Emperor ascended the steps leading up to the 
pillared portico of the Imperial Palace, he paused and 
turned to look out upon the waiting multitude below. 

Back of him was stationed the Royal Marines, against 
the deep blue uniforms of which his splendid white and gold 
clad figure stood out in striking contrast. 

The Imperial Guard in scarlet and gold and black, were 
drawn up at his right along the outer rail of the great stair- 
case from bottom to top. 

The Crown Prince’s company in white and gold and 
black were upon his left in like position. 

Col. Miron, in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, stood 
at his right, John of Ainhault, wearing the uniform of the 
Crown Prince’s company, was at his left, while Admiral 
Sefton, in full uniform, stood a little back from him. The 
perfection of arrangement seemed to have been achieved. 

A great cheer that grew into a mighty roar went up 
from that great gathering of people. 

Had he at last found his land, his country, his home? 

But the wheels of destiny were moving silently, steadily, 
inflexibly on, for destinies wait upon no man, and we are all 
only parts of a whole. We each contribute our little, almost 
insignificant part, and the great whole moves on as if we 
had not been. 

A few days after the remains of the Emperor Paul had 
been laid away in the splendid tomb prepared for the Im- 
perial Rulers of Carona, and during the period of mourn- 


386 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

in g imposed by the court, Alfred had, with John of Ainhauh 
and Col. Miron, mounted his horse and ridden- through the 
city taking the way that led to the mountains where Raoul 
had met his tragic death only a few months before. 

They rode unattended to the outer edge of the city 
where a groom awaited them upon a fine bay mount. 

The man saluted and dismounted, then as Alfred took 
the reins, turned and took his way to the palace on foot. 

As the three started forward at a rapid pace, Alfred 
driving the riderless horse by the side of his own, his calm, 
impassive face gave no clue to the errand upon which he 
was bent, to his companions who looked toward him with 
curious questionings in their glances. The summons to ride 
with him had awakened no particular thought or suggestion, 
although they had been somewhat surprised that he had 
suggested taking this road. 

Along the broad highway the three rode at a rapid 
pace, so that in a comparatively short time they came to the 
more open upland which led to the mountain road. Along 
this they pursued their way at a more moderate pace. 

As the road wound up the mountain side, the pic- 
turesque grandeur began to come into view, increasing in 
beauty and sublimity as they went. 

At last Col. Miron reined in his horse and saluted as he 
said, “ Your Highness, the place where Raoul went over is 
about an eighth of a mile farther on upon a small plateau 
like of the road, just before coming to a sharp turn.” 

At that Alfred asked them to wait while he fastened 
the bay to the branches of a tree that grew near to the side 
of the rocky road, then returning to his companions he rode 
slowly forward with them. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 387 

“ Tell me, Miron,” said he, “ when we reach the exact 
spot.” 

Col. Miron bowed. 

Alfred studied the road carefully as they rode forward 
but vouchsafed no information to their glances of concern. 

The road now bore to the left upon an easy curve and 
out upon a short straight stretch where it hung like a shelf 
over the precipice several hundred feet high, before turning 
sharply to the left. 

About midway Col. Miron drew rein and said, “ This, 
Your Highness, is the exact spot where Raoul went over.” 

Alfred dismounted and handing his reins to Col. Miron, 
walked slowly to the edge of the cliff. 

Carefully he studied the ground as if seeking to find 
some trace of the riders who had gone that way on that fatal 
day. His two companions watched him closely, but there 
was that same inexplicable something in that silent, almost 
mysteriously moving figure, near the face of the cliff. 

What did this journey mean? Why had the groom 
been dismissed and the riderless horse brought on? Why 
this careful, almost minute scrutiny of the mountain road? 

They could only wonder. 

At last Alfred stepped quickly to the edge of the cliff 
and looked down; after a little he turned back and came 
to them, his face rather pale, his mouth set and firm. 

Taking the reins from Col. Miron, he swung himself 
into the saddle with an ease and agility that caused his 
companions to open their eyes wide with astonishment, but 
before either could express the surprise he felt, he directed 
them to take their position a little farther along, their horses 


388 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

turned toward the ascending road, also that whatever took 
place neither man was to change his position. 

After they had taken the places he had assigned them, 
with their horses drawn closely up to the steep mountain- 
side, away from the edge of the cliff, with a broad passage 
between, he rode away down the road to where the bay had 
been tied. 

Loosing the reins he stopped for a moment and stroked 
the horse gently upon the head as he murmured under his 
breath, “ Poor fellow, poor fellow.” 

Turning about he rode back toward his waiting com- 
panions, the bay being between his own mount and the edge 
of the cliff. 

When he came to the level curve he put the two horses 
to a slow canter, gradually increasing the pace so that by 
the time they had reached the straight piece of road they 
were running at a goodly speed. Both horses were now 
moving rather near to the cliff. Suddenly, just as they 
reached the point where the Archduke Raoul went over, 
Alfred turned his horse and, with whip and spur, drove him 
upon the bay with terrific force. The fearful impact threw 
the two horses apart as would a great steel spring. Alfred 
flung his horse back upon its haunches, throwing himself to 
the right at the same time with full force, which caused it 
to stagger nearer to the center of the road. The bay reeled 
to the edge of the cliff, where for a moment he struggled 
desparately to regain his balance. 

A cry of horror burst from the lips of the watchers as 
Alfred flung the reins of the bay from him. 

For a moment the bay poised upon the edge of the 
precipice, then with a frightful scream of almost human 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 389 

agony he shot from sight. Scarcely a moment seemed to 
have elapsed when a dull, heavy thud betokened that all 
was over. 

For a moment John of Ainhault and Col. Miron gazed 
at the ghastly face of the man before them with terror. 

Had he suddenly gone mad ? 

Reining his horse back toward the inner side of the 
road he now sat in his saddle shivering as with an ague, 
his breath coming in long gasping sobs. 

As he encountered the look of the two men before 
him he seemed to read the awful thoughts that were pass- 
ing through their minds. 

Controlling himself as quickly as he could, he spoke, 
although his voice trembled and almost broke. 

“ John of Ainhault, Col. Miron, you have seen how 
Raoul went to his death.” 

“ Your Highness ! ” exclaimed the two men in the 
same breath. “ You mean — ” 

“ That the woman drove him over the cliff just as I 
sent that poor brute over.” And he shuddered as he spoke. 

Immediately the full meaning of the morning ride be- 
came clear to both men. Now they both understood why 
Alfred had refused to ride Golden Betty when she came 
to him that morning, but had chosen another horse in- 
stead; now they could see why the groom had been dis- 
missed ; so no tales could be carried. Also they were aware 
that the trip had to do with the young Countess, who was 
kept closely guarded, although they could not quite under- 
stand how, for in that land the Emperor was the supreme 
head of all, and when any man had suddenly and 
mysteriously disappeared, after having given some real or 


390 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

fancied offence, all lips had become suddenly silent; no 
one questioned. 

That he had some object in view both felt reasonably 
certain, but what that object might be neither could con- 
jecture, yet both were learning that whatever it might be 
there would be no deviation from what he considered rea- 
sonable and right. 

Turning his horse Alfred signaled his companions, 
and all three rode slowly down the mountain side. 

Reaching the open country below they made a wide 
detour, and entering the city at a different point returned 
to the palace without creating any undue interest or 
curiosity. 

On the morning following, before it was yet day, a 
messenger departed bearing a sealed message to the distant 
almost inaccessible mountains of Korenden. 

Later, Alfred, sitting in a small semi-private room 
adjoining the great library, touched a bell; an attendant 
entered. 

“ Prince Vladimer is without ? ” asked he. 

“ He is, Your Highness,” was the reply. 

“ Show him in.” 

The man saluted and retired; in a few moments the 
door again opened, when he returned, ushering in Prince 
Vladimer. As he retired two officers entered and stationed 
themselves upon either side of the door as it closed. 

The Prince did not observe the men, his face being 
toward the occupant of the room as he entered. 

Alfred motioned him to a seat before him, whereupon 
he seated himself with his back still toward the door. 

“ You received my message,” said Alfred. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 391 

“ I did, Your Highness, and hastened at once to 
comply.” 

“ I appreciate the prompt response to my wishes,” 
Alfred said, “ as there are some points upon which I wish to 
consult with you.” 

“ You flatter me,” was the reply of the Prince, with a 
most ingratitating smile, “ I shall consider it an honor to 
be allowed to furnish any information to Your Highness 
that I can.” 

Here was a most unexpected concession. At former 
times, when Vladimer and his party had endeavored to 
meet the Crown Prince, they had been met with a prompt 
and emphatic denial. Then, the night when they had been 
presented had seemed only to increase their bewilderment, 
for their very impersonal reception and quiet dismissal 
seemed to afford no clearer view of their position with the 
new man, while the shocking tragedy which followed had 
succeeded in seemingly to have hopelessly entangled all 
of their well laid plans. 

Now to have been requested to wait upon the Crown 
Prince and meet with him in private conference was so 
unexpected and gratifying that he could scarcely repress a 
sinister smile of satisfaction. 

“ Prince,” said Alfred, looking fixedly into the face 
of the man before him and speaking slow and clear, “ would 
it be possible, if two people were riding together along an 
elevation at a rapid pace, for the inner man to suddenly 
hurl his horse against that of the other and dash him over 
the cliff to his death?” 

When Alfred began speaking, Vladimer was gazing 
almost insolently into the face before him, but as the tone 


392 My Land . My Country. My Home . 

changed and the question was brought to a quick sharp 
close, and the full import of the words came to him, every 
vestige of color forsook his face, leaving it white and 
ghastly. 

“ Your Highness, — I — did — not — see — ” 

Alfred Raymond was leaning far forward; his grand 
golden-gray eyes were flashing ominously into the terror 
stricken ones before him. 

“You did not see what?” The words cut the air 
like a knife. 

“I — did — not — see — the — man — go — over.” 
He was looking into those wonderful eyes and before he 
knew it the words were out. 

The attack had been so sudden, the question so un- 
expected, that he was completely swept off his feet. 

As the full meaning of the snare into which he thus 
found himself came to him, he made a desperate effort to 
recover himself. 

Struggling to still the wild beating of his heart he 
tried to force a smile to his quivering white lips, as he 
said, “ Your Highness is pleased to joke — ” 

“ Silence ! ” thundered Alfred, “ and hear me, Vladi- 
mer, I know how Raoul went to his death, and you know 
also.” 

“Your Highness knows?” 

The man- was helpless, nor could he turn his gaze away 
from those eyes that seemed to be reading his very soul. 

“ The woman drove him over the cliff, did she not ? ” 

It was a question and a command. 

“Yes,” was the gasping reply. In the hands of this 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 393 

man, this man whom he had named timid and weak, he 
found himself as wax. 

“ Vladimer,” said Alfred, his tones cold as ice, “ the 
inner walls of the dungeons of Fort Philip they tell me do 
not make pleasant companions, and a too long and close con- 
templation of them has proven more than man’s mind is 
able to stand.” 

The face of the listener was frozen with horror. His 
jaw dropped. His hands hung helpless at his sides. 

“ I have no wish,” that voice was saying, “ to go into 
details with you beyond that you have attempted to seize 
that to which you have no claim whatever. You have 
stopped at nothing to gain your ends; therefore it is but 
your own measure that will be meted out to you. The 
climate of Carona will not be conducive to your health, 
therefore you will be escorted beyond the borders of our 
land. The government of the country to which you journey 
will be notified of your arrival within its borders, also the 
nature of your malady. Should they conclude that they 
cannot entertain you, nor heal your disease, we will see to 
it that you are properly transported further, although I 
doubt me greatly whether any, other than yourself, can 
heal you of your disorders, and make you what you ought 
to be, a man.” 

The voice ceased. The man sat stunned, helpless. 

“ Guards,” Alfred spoke again. The two men stepped 
forward and saluted. “ You have had your orders, take 
him away.” 

They lifted him to his feet and led him, staggering 
like a drunken man, from the room. 


394 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The entire overthrow of the man had been quick and 
complete. 

With an almost uncanny intuition Alfred had sprung 
upon the real facts of the case and all subsequent dis- 
closures had borne out his suspicions. 

The entire plot precipitated by the untimely death of 
the supposed Crown Prince was slowly being unraveled. 

The coronation and all of its attendant train of forms 
and ceremonies, all its feasts and festals, was over; once 
more the wheels of state were moving around in their ac- 
customed grooves. 

The tragic death of the Emperor Paul was fast being 
forgotten ; the woman, — well it were better not to speak of 
her, such speech was dangerous, and to that end they would 
forget her, and so they quickly dropped back each in his 
own place. 

But they did not know that long before they had 
crowned the new Emperor, in' the early morning, long be- 
fore the break of day, a white-faced man, strongly guarded, 
had been escorted from the city’s gates, and after traversing 
weary miles had passed from their borders into another 
land. 

They did not know that after a, to him, seemingly 
interminable delay, a message had come from the King of 
that country saying that he would be unable to afford him 
any shelter, but would allow him safe transportation to a 
yet more distant land; and so his weary heart-breaking 
journey continued. 

He had scoffed at the poor wandering Jew who could 
find no rest for the sole of his foot, who could call no land 
his home, no shelter his abiding place: had sneered and 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 395 

branded it as a lie ; now his own words had risen up against 
him and were questioning him in his soul, “ whose were the 
lie, yours or theirs?” And in his inmost heart he knew. 
Ke was proving their truth. 

A few days after the coronation the great state hall 
presented an entirely new and striking scene. A goodly 
number of Carodina’s most powerful and influential citi- 
zens were gathered together upon one side of the room. 
Upon the other were seated an equal number of the 
standard merchants and business men of the city. 

A feeling of suppressed excitement moved them. 
Never had they remembered any such gathering. Never, 
could they recall, had there been any endeavor to bring 
these two classes together, much less any effort to try to 
mix them. 

It was an entirely new experience. Each had been 
in perfect ignorance concerning the other. 

When each had received the Imperial summons to be 
present, no thought had come concerning his neighbor, the 
only thoughts that had interested each had been only of a 
purely personal nature, so that when they had assembled 
their thoughts were at once directed into an entirely dif- 
ferent channel. 

However, it was not for long that they were left to 
their thoughts and unspoken conjectures, for soon after 
they had assembled and had been assigned to their places, 
the door leading into the room from back of the raised 
platform opened and the Emperor Alfred entered with 
several officers, among them being John of Ainhault and 
Col. Miron. 

Immediately the assembled men rose to their feet and, 


396 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

saluting, remained standing until the Emperor and his at- 
tendants had taken their seats upon the platform. 

Upon being directed so to do they resumed their seats, 
although it brought to them a very new and uncomfortable 
feeling, for according to an old and established custom and 
law of the land they were not allowed to sit in the presence 
of their Emperor; however, after a little, regaining their 
composure and looking about, they perceived a chair at 
the left of the Emperor and near to the table which stood 
immediately in front of the seat occupied by him and which 
still remained empty. 

During the confusion attendant upon the entrance of 
the Emperor and his party, they had not noticed the en- 
trance by another door back of them of a party of women, 
deeply veiled in the dress of some religious order, who 
immediately took their seats without having attracted any 
attention whatever. 

Indeed so deeply were they interested in this new 
arrangement, that each scarcely so much as gave a thought 
to his neighbor. 

There was no need to enjoin silence where silence al- 
ready prevailed, but at the first word that issued from the 
lips of the Emperor the silence seemed intensified a hun- 
dred fold. 

“ My friends?” said he, “ I have requested your 
presence here to-day, as, having to deal with a very peculiar 
and painful question, I felt that I would like to have you 
with me to assist, or at least to justify, me in any decision 
I might find it necessary to render. 

For a moment blank astonishment mastered them. 
When had they ever been asked to assist their Emperor to 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 397 

render a decision? When had their opinion even been 
sought? The fact was, that owing to the despotic law of 
the land they had been only too anxious to hide their 
opinion, for often to express it was accompanied with more 
or less danger. 

And now they waited, half fearfully lest some expres- 
sion might be asked of them, but as no expression was 
asked they began to breath somewhat more easily: 

“ Bring in the woman,” commanded the Emperor. 

A door at the right opened and the guards led in the 
Countess Zetta, and at a sign from him conducted her to 
the vacant chair at his left. 

Attired in a close-fitting black gown, entirely devoid 
of ornament, her head covered, her face somewhat pale, 
she avoided looking at the Emperor, but instead turned and 
let her gaze fall upon the assembled company of men with 
a half contemptuous smile upon her beautiful face. 

“ Gentlemen,” and the Emperor, “ it is scarcely neces- 
sary to remind you of the treacherous act that destroyed 
the life of the late Emperor, my father, to explain why I 
have asked you to be present to-day.” 

An angry red burned upon the face of the woman as 
she shot a quick, vindictive glance toward the speaker, but 
encountering the steady gaze of those grand gray eyes she 
quickly turned away. 

What did he intend to do? Did he intend to humiliate 
her before these men? She was of noble, aye, even royal 
birth, for was not her mother a princess? While some of 
these men were less than the dirt under her feet. 

She was a bold and daring woman. She had played 
for high stakes, and now she would fight, fight to the bitter 


398 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

end, for this man was unconsciously giving her an oppor- 
tunity of which she had not dreamed. This man. Who 
and what was he? He had been bred in a different land; 
he already began to show signs of mildness; perhaps he 
was only weak and timid after all and to that end desired 
these men to sustain him. If that were so then she had 
little to fear, for among all these there was not one of the 
nobles that she did not know almost as well as he knew 
himself. She had not played her game without knowing 
her pawns. As for the others, pah ! They were too poor 
and mean even to consider. So she turned toward the 
Emperor, a half insolent smile upon her face. 

But the point wherein she failed was that she did not 
know the man who was speaking. 

“ But before taking up that question with you,” said 
he, “ I desire to go back a little and take up another matter 
that may have some considerable bearing upon the question 
in hand.” 

Another matter? Something that might have some 
reference and bearing upon the death of the Emperor Paul 
at the hands of this woman? Why, what could it be? 

These and similar thoughts were passing through the 
minds of all who were following the speaker closely. 

The experience was to them an entirely new one, and 
one and all were finding themselves intensely interested, 
although they could not understand whither it all tended. 

The expression upon the face of the woman changed. 
In its place a half-dazed bewildered look came and settled 
for a moment, then it quickly passed. 

“ And that matter,” continued the speaker, “ is in ref- 
erence to the death of the Archduke Raoul.” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 399 

The hands of the woman clutched them tightly upon 
the arms of the chair in which she was seated, while the 
company gazed at the speaker in open surprise, for what 
could the death of Raoul have to do with the shooting of 
the Emperor Paul? But the speaker was going on and 
every ear was listening that not a syllable even should be 
lost. The interest was so great. 

“ Myself,” said Alfred, “ with John of Ainhault and 
Col. Miron, rode out upon that mountain road where Raoul 
met his death a few days since, and Col. Miron will now 
relate to you what took place upon that journey.” 

The woman was looking at the speaker with wide open 
staring eyes, then she quickly recovered herself as Col. 
Miron rose to his feet and began to speak. 

The silence became almost painful as in clean, plain 
words Col. Miron pictured every detail of that ride; when 
he came to that part describing the precipice, which he did 
with minute accuracy, the interest grew. 

Then he paused for a moment in his narration, and 
after a little took up the thread of his tale beginning with 
the return of the Emperor to the horse left below. 
Minutely he described every step of the way. Clearly he 
pictured each scene until all forgot the speaker and saw 
only the picture he portrayed. So vividly did he describe 
the end when the horse of the Emperor hurled the un- 
fortunate bay over the cliff to the jagged rocks below, that 
a low exclamation of horror broke from the lips of his 
listeners. 

The woman seemed to turn to stone. 

Slowly the Emperor rose to his feet and turning fixed 
his gaze upon the white horror-stricken face before him. 


400 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

Where was all her strength and courage now? An iron 
hand had caught her and was holding her as in a vice. 
Her every sense was keenly, painfully alive. The words of 
this man were pouring in upon her brain with a terribly 
clear and significant meaning as the truth was driven home. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, speaking low and impressively, 
“ the same hand that shot the Emperor Paul drove Raoul 
over the cliff to his death, and that hand is the hand of 
the woman you see before you. Silence ! ” said he, as the 
Countess made as if to speak. Powerless she sunk back, 
unable to remove her gaze from those grand golden-gray 
eyes that were burning now with a terribly fascinating fire. 

“ A plot had been laid,” continued he, “ to overthrow 
the present dynasty and seize the throne. A plot as bold 
and cunning as it was vile and dastardly. This woman 
had planned, with the aid of Prince Vladimer and others, 
to marry Raoul, when it would be arranged to remove the 
Emperor and have Raoul crowned as Emperor and herself 
as Empress; then at a propitious moment Raoul would 
follow the Emperor Paul, the Empress would then seize 
the reins of control and elevate Vladimer, her chief sup- 
port, to the position as Emperor, and so seize the whole 
empire. But for the wild outburst of temper which re- 
sulted in the death of Raoul, it is reasonable to suppose 
that the greater part of, if not all of, their plans would 
ultimately have succeeded.” 

The Countess seemed upon the verge of collapse. 
The one brief flash of hope that had appeared had vanished 
in blackness and defeat, and still that terribly calm voice 
was going on, only interrupted by an occasional gasp, which 
betokened the intense feeling of the company. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 401 

“ I know, that according to the unwritten law of this 
land, that when the fatal shot was fired that destroyed the 
life of the Emperor, my father, a hundred swords should 
have been sheathed in the body of the woman. But, gen- 
tlemen, I now wish to appeal to you — ,” What was this? 
Did their ears hear aright? He, their Emperor, was ap- 
pealing to them? Appealing for the woman who had slain 
his father? Surely their ears had deceived them! “ We 
are living in a so-called enlightened age, not a barbarous 
one. We call ourselves Christians, do we not? ” The voice 
was rising in intensity now and sweeping all before it. 
“ Very well, if we are living in such an age then is it not 
time that we began to employ Christian methods and not 
the methods of wild, untamed barbarians ? ” 

What was this? What did it mean? They were be- 
coming bewildered; he, the Emperor, was using the very 
term of them that they in their ignorance had applied to 
him. And through it all he was holding them, as it were, 
in the very hollow of his hand. They scarce seemed to 
have any mind of their own; they were analyzing as with 
his mind; they were seeing as with his eyes and not their 
own. 

“ The Divine Word says, * Vengeance is Mine, I will 
repay/ then who gave us the right to destroy? Did any 
of you give life to this woman? Then what right have you 
to take it away? And if you have not the right, who then, 
think you, has given me the right to do so? 

“ It is scarcely necessary for me to remind you that 
in the history of this, your land, far, far, back in the past, 
ages and ages ago, this people elected my father’s house to 
be your ruling house; from it they chose their ruler, their 


402 My Land. My Country. My Home . 

Emperor ; and through the succeeding years that governor- 
ship has descended from father to son until to-day it, with 
all its duties and burdens, its cares and responsibilities, 
rests upon my shoulders. But have you stopped to con- 
sider, to remember, that the man whom your fathers chose 
in the beginning, whom they voted the Divine right to be- 
come an Emperor, was only a man from among and as 
themselves, and that to-day the man whom you name your 
Emperor is only a man as you yourselves are men? A 
man who needs your assistance and cooperation as much 
as you need his? 

“ As the arms of the prophet of old, the ‘ chosen one 
of God/ were only weak at the strongest and must needs 
be held aloft that the battle for right might prevail, so 
remember that the arms of the man, your Emperor, will 
need to be sustained, as did those of Moses of old, that the 
right shall be gained and kept ; and know that you, one and 
all, must bear your part in the ‘ heat and burden of the 
day/ and that you, one and all, are equally responsible with 
me that right shall prevail at the last. 

“ So have I chosen you to stand with me and bear 
your part as men in determining the quantity and quality 
of mercy and justice we shall deal out to this woman. 
And to that end let us be sure that our justice is tempered 
with a full measure of the Divine justice itself. 

“ But, you say, she has done more ; she has destroyed 
the lives of more than one. Well, be it so. Is there 
aught in that which makes you any the more accountable? 
Will you have to answer for her sins? No. Look well 
to it that you are in position to answer faithfully for 
your own failings. And, knowing and acknowledging 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 403 

this, do you think it right to hurl the soul of this woman 
into the presence of an outraged God without one instant 
of preparation? Vladimer, who is equally guilty with her, 
is a wanderer upon the face of the earth to-day. Banished 
from our land, the ruler of Norwelden, our neighbor, has 
denied him a refuge. So must he wander on, without a 
country, without a home, until the vile sinfulness of his 
soul shall be purged away and he shall come to be once 
more a man among men before he shall find a rest for the 
sole of his foot, or a roof under which he may bide for 
rest. 

“ And shall we, who call ourselves enlightened, edu- 
cated, Christian men and God fearing, deny to this woman 
at least an opportunity to repent her of the evil already 
done, by committing another and a greater evil, the evil of 
helping to damn a fellow-soul forever? 

“ Amid the distant hills of Korenden, as you all know, 
is the retreat of those holy women known as The Renuncia- 
tionists ; their lives one grand renunciation devoted to 
the uplifting, upbuilding of humanity wherever reached by 
them. In that retreat, and in the company of these conse- 
crated women,” as he spoke, the veiled woman came and 
stood at his left, motionless, “let this woman pass the re- 
mainder of her days, there to make her peace with her God 
before it shall be forever too late.” 

A great gasp went up from the entire company as the 
full meaning of the words of the Emperor came to them, 
for it was well known that this particular order of women, 
obeying the most rigid laws, was the strictest of any in 
the known world, so that the change from the wildly gay 
life she had led, to the incarceration within those stony 


404 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

walls, would be to the Countess Zetta, worse a hundred fold 
than death itself. 

With a piteous cry the woman flung herself forward 
to her knees, her arms outstretched toward the Emperor, 
who interrupted her appeal. 

“ Countess,” said he coldly, “ remember that Socrates 
welcomed the poisoned herb ; that Egypt’s Queen kissed the 
deadly asp; then you surely will not acknowledge yourself 
as less noble, less courageous than they and cry for mercy, 
when such mercy has already been shown to you as has been 
shown t<p but few. Remember that a daughter of proud 
old Carona would blush to sue for pardon.” 

Slowly the outstretched arms sank. Slowly the stricken 
woman rose to her feet, every avenue of hope closed; a 
forlorn, desolate figure. She had sinned, sinned almost 
beyond pardon, and in the iron jaws of retribution she was 
being slowly crushed. 

“ Gentlemen,” went on the Emperor, “ I said that I 
desired your co-operation. I now appeal to you. You 
have heard my decision. If there is one voice among you 
that will rise in defence of this woman, that will declare 
that I have been unjust or unfair in aught, I pledge you 
my word I will repeal it.” 

Long and silently they looked into the splendid face 
before them ; into those grand gray eyes ; then they looked 
at the bowed form of the woman ; then they remembered 
the crime ; then they remembered the punishment ; but no 
man spoke. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


405 


CHAPTER XXIV 

Days became weeks and the weeks grew into months 
while the ship of state moved on. 

All unknown a new spirit was abroad, a new feeling; 
as it were a new life had been born; and as a new life it 
was scarcely to be noticed except as when healing had 
come to the worn pain-racked body, one day there has 
come the sense of a greater comfort and from that new 
hope has risen, new vigorous growth toward strength and 
life. 

So their new Emperor had come among them. He 
was theirs and yet not theirs, for while he was born of 
them he was not reared of them, although they scarcely 
thought of that. He went among them. He sometimes 
touched them. Perhaps ’twas only the pressure of his 
hand as he laid it upon their work, mayhap only the glance 
of his eye, but with it there seemed to come the breath of a 

new life from some distant unknown land. 

* 

Slowly he was coming to be theirs in some strange 
indefinable way. He had said that he needed them and 
they needed him. Somehow they were coming to the con- 
sciousness that without him they would be desolate; like 
a ship without a rudder, like a man without a home, and 
they thought of Vladimer. 

Alfred and John of Ainhault were sitting alone. They 
had been discussing matters of state and for a little time 
silence had fallen between them. At last the Emperor spoke. 

“ Cousin of Ainhault, of late I have had a curious 


40 6 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

thought that I have desired to express to you; a thought 
that concerns the future welfare of our house. ,, 

John of Ainhault looked questioningly toward the 
speaker, who continued, “ You know that you and I are the 
last of the direct line of our fathers* house.” 

“Yes,” said the other. 

“ Now,” said Alfred, “ as my father’s son the crown 
and scepter of Carona have descended to me and you as the 
son of my father’s brother being the next in line are the 
heir apparent and Crown Prince. Have you ever considered 
what would be the position of this great empire, or the con- 
dition of its people, were anything to occur that would 
remove both you and I ? ” 

“You mean?” 

“ That as love for woman has never entered my life it 
devolves upon you to select a wife and provide an heir to 
the throne.” 

“But, Your Majesty — !” 

“ John,” said the Emperor, “ your father was the 
brother of my father, I am, therefore, no greater than you, 
so let us, at least in private life, May aside all those forms 
and ceremonies and remember that I am only Alfred, so I 
ask you that you call me by the name she — ” he paused, 
“ the name she, my mother, called me.” Again ensued a 
pause, after which he continued. “ Also, you know that 
the nation is again asking why either you or I do not take 
a wife.” 

“ But, cousin,” replied the Archduke, “ how can we ? 
Pardon me for introducing an unwelcome topic, but how 
can we ask a pure woman to wed with either of us? ” 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


40 7 


“Why! What do you mean?” asked Alfred in 
astonishment. 

“ From all you have said and done,” was the reply, “ I 
know that you are acquainted with the entire history of 
our house, a history of which we do not need to boast, 
especially the life of Philip — ” 

“ And Paul,” added Alfred. 

The Archduke bowed but vouchsafed no comment. 

“ John,” said Alfred, “ you have not forgotten all that 
took place in that home in Westport,” again he paused, then 
resumed, “ when I asked Friend Nathan Arnold how can a 
clean thing come from an unclean, and you certainly have 
not forgotten his wonderful reply?” 

“ No, cousin,” was the reply. 

“ Since that time,” said Alfred, “ this thought has 
come to me, and it answers your misgivings at the same 
time; there is only one person who can lower or degrade 
you and that person is yourself. I know that the Divine 
word says that, ‘ The sins of the fathers shall be visited 
upon the children, even unto the third and four generation/ 
but it does not follow that the children must needs enter- 
tain or cultivate those sins; while I grant you that it is a 
true saying, and children do inherit, or as the law says, ‘ do 
visit/ the character of their parents, both good and evil, 
yet can you show me where in the Holy Book we are en- 
joined to develop or cultivate those sins and shortcomings 
or even their disagreeable personalities? But rather does 
not everything about us, every higher trait in us, call upon 
us to strive to cultivate and develop all that is highest 
and holiest, all that is purest and best instead? 

“ Think you not that I could, if I wished to lower and 


408 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

degrade myself, emulate the example of Paul, my father? 
But what of her, my mother? Is my mother and her life 
and influence of so little consequence that I should ignore 
it entirely ?” And as he spoke his thoughts were of Mar- 
garet Raymond, the woman who had reared him; then his 
thoughts went to that beautiful pictured face in the great 
salon above. “ What a strange world is this in which we 
are living,” continued he. “ We see the woman whom we 
say we love, honor and would cherish ; we put her in the 
highest place man has to offer to woman, the place of the 
mother of his children, a being one with himself; and then 
we say, give no heed to her, she is only a woman ; but look 
at me, I am the bright and shining example for you to 
follow. Odd, isn’t it, John? But we are wandering far 
from the question : we were discussing the question of the 
succession of our line, and I would ask you to pardon the 
blunt frankness of my question when I ask if you, my 
cousin, have yet not seen the woman whom you would make 
your wife?” 

“ Alfred,” said the Archduke, now addressing him by 
his name for the first time, “ you have been fair and honest 
with me and I will be fair and honest with you. You are, 
as you say, the son of my father’s brother and the same as 
myself, as you made plain in your clear exposition of our 
exact position as men among men. Yet you are my Em- 
peror, and for the good of the greater number, I am bound 
to obey the oath of allegiance, I swore to you, and so, reply- 
ing to your question, I will say, that I have looked upon the 
woman whom my soul cries out for, but she is as far re- 
moved from me as is the heaven above the earth.” 

“Cousin mine,” said Alfred gently, “I do not wish to 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 409 

pry into your inner life, but, if it is possible, can you not 
tell me who this woman may be and why you deem her un- 
attainable? Where dwells this woman, and why is she so 
far removed from you? Can you not tell me of her? ” 

“ Tell you of her?” said John of Ainhault, a peculiar 
inflection in his voice, “ I fear me that the tongue of John of 
Ainhault is but poorly equipped to tell you of her, for she 
is fair beyond women ; tall, with eyes of deep, unfathomable, 
velvety blue. Her hair like spun gold and worn like a 
coronal, adorns her beautiful head as never yet diadem 
crowned the head of Queen or Empress. Her voice, the 
sweetest I have ever yet heard and even now I hear her as 
when, with her hands in mine, she gave her charge to me.” 

“ Her charge to you?” said Alfred, rising to his feet, 
his face pale with a deep inward emotion. What did John 
of Ainhault mean ? Why did the past roll dimly up before 
him? 

“ Yes,” said the Archduke rising and facing him, a wist- 
ful look upon his fine face, “ her charge to me, — ‘ he is 
your charge from me/ Alfred began to tremble, 4 and one 
day I shall demand a faithful accounting of your trust/ ” 

For a moment there was no sound between them, then 
Alfred stepped forward and laying his hands upon the 
shoulders of John of Ainhault he gazed long and earnestly 
into the fine brown eyes before him as if trying to read the 
soul of the man, then, in a low tone he spoke, as his eyes 
grew misty with tenderness, “J°h n > you are speaking 
of ” 

“ Margaret Raymond,” was the low spoken reply. 

“ My sister ! ” said Alfred almost in a whisper. Then, 
dropping his hands, he stepped back as he drew himself to 


410 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

his full height and spoke in a stern voice, a half merry 
twinkle showing in his grand gray eyes. “ Sir, are not your 
aspirations high that you desire the sister of an Emperor to 
be your wife? ” 

“ Cousin ! What do you mean ? ” said the Archduke 
half startled. 

“ John,” said the Emperor, holding out his hand which 
the other grasped firmly, “ and she, my little sister, my little 
Madge, is the woman who is so far removed from you ? ” 
Then his attitude changed suddenly. “ Listen, Sir ! ” said he 
sternly. “ I am your Emperor, and in me is all authority 
vested, and you, you sir, have offended us ; yes, sir, offended 
us deeply; therefore you are banished; do you follow me? 
You are banished from our Imperial presence and from our 
land ; and you shall journey at once to that land, and if you 
bring not this woman back with you as a willing and happy 
ransom for you, you shall return no more to our shores or to 
our presence. Silence ! Sir,” as the Archduke endeavored to 
speak. “ Silence ! And now make you ready to depart at 
once, for if you are found within our borders after twelve 
hours ” 

“ But, Cousin,” interrupted John of Ainhault, “ my 
mother ! ” 

“ Your mother !” said Alfred. “ Wait ! We will confer 
with her. Come ! ” said he holding out his hand. “ Come 
with me ! ” 

Hastily quitting the apartment they hurried along the 
great corridor like a pair of mischievous school-boys, and 
made their way by a small postern door from the palace 
without having been seen by any one. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 41 1 

By avoiding the more frequented paths they reached 
the stables unseen. 

Alfred whistled and Golden Betty answered from 
her stall. Darting under the rail, he caught her saddle 
and trappings and swiftly harnessed her with his own 
hands while John of Ainhault, now thoroughly imbued 
with the same wild spirit, was doing the same in an ad- 
joining stall. 

As the Archduke led his mount forth, he stopped 
with surprise as he beheld his companion. Where was 
the quiet, half-stern, half-sad man he had known during 
the days that had elapsed since he first beheld him in 
that distant land? Before him was standing the glow- 
ing man of the plains. The handsome, flushed face, the 
grand golden-gray eyes that flashed and glowed ; the 
small riding cap pressed far back from the face showing 
that mass of golden-brown hair, the splendid supple figure 
as he swung himself in the saddle as light as a bird. He 
fairly caught his breath. 

“ Hurry! Hurry!” said Alfred, “before they catch 
us! ” 

Quickly John of Ainhault sprang up and like an 
arrow from the bow the two horses shot from the great 
stable. 

At the sound of the running horses, the grooms, who 
were at their meal, rushed out just in time to see the two 
runaways riding madly down the great avenue to the gate. 
Consternation seized them, and this almost grew into a panic 
when they learned that there had been no one on duty when 
the Emperor and Crown Prince had suddenly taken the 
horses and made off with them. 


412 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

This half-wild, half-mad dash had in it so much of the 
joyous, free rush with which he had hurled himself into the 
battle with those half-wild cattle of the plains, that by the 
time they drew rein at the entrance to Castle Ainhault, the 
half-sad, serious man had completely vanished and only the 
man of the wonderful new land remained. 

A groom took their horses and led them away as they 
mounted the steps to the entrance hall. 

Learning that the Archduchess was in the great salon, 
John of Ainhault sent a page to her with the request that the 
Emperor and himself desired to meet her in her private 
apartments. 

The messenger returned shortly, saying that the Arch- 
duchess would be pleased if they would proceed thither and 
that she would join them later.” 

“Your Highness,” said Alfred, after they had escorted 
her to a seat and had themselves taken seats before her, “ I 
have come to plead a cause.” 

“A cause?” repeated she, looking into that splendid 
face and becoming somewhat bewildered by the flash of 
those grand gray eyes, as she noted the excitement that 
moved the two men before her; “What cause? Whose 
cause ? ” 

“ The cause of John of Ainhault,” replied Alfred, not 
entirely repressing the smile that lit up his handsome face. 

“ I hardly know how to understand you, sir. What 
cause of John of Ainhault is so great that it must needs an 
Emperor to plead it?” said she turning to her son and hold- 
ing out her hand as she spoke. 

The Archduke moved his seat nearer to his mother and 
taking the hand held out to him, held it close pressed in his. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 413 

“ John of Ainhault,” said Alfred sternly, “ desires to 
wed the sister of an Emperor. 

“ Sir, you speak in riddles,” said she, “ please explain.” 

“ Gladly your Highness, but be patient with me,” said 
Alfred as he leaned his arm lightly upon a small table near 
him, “ for I must ask you to go with me upon a strange jour- 
ney in a far country.” 

For a moment the Archduchess gazed fixedly into that 
face before her and was somewhat startled at the peculiar 
look that came over it. Then the face and form of the man 
before her faded from view. Her surroundings were as if 
they had not been. Only the hand clasped in the warm, firm 
clasp of her son seemed to bind her to the present. She 
seemed to be traversing a cool, leafy wood. Her chest heaved 
at the pressure of the cool, resilient air about her. Then, 
to her startled ears there came a wonderful burst of song, 
and involuntarily she leaned forward as if fearing to lose 
one note of that Divine melody. 

Now a shudder shook her at the vile discord that dis- 
pelled the bright radiance of the morning. Her heart ached 
for the beautiful, barefoot boy that came out before her. 

Breathless, almost, she followed every scene that was 
shown ; every picture that was portrayed. 

When the wonderful story Mary Beaton told was re- 
peated with startling fidelity of word and detail, again she 
felt the pressure of that splendid child-form upon her own 
breast as when they told her that she had borne a son. The 
story was going on and suddenly she began to feel an almost 
Holy awe steal over her as she saw that wonderful Quaker 
woman whose character as unfolded by this peerless narra- 


4 X 4 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


tor ascended to such heights as she had not thought it pos- 
sible for mortal to attain unto. 

After the violent and sickening upheaval that had 
broken up the little circle, the new home as created by this 
woman, became, in her eyes, almost a sanctuary. 

Step by step she followed that little trio as day by day 
it moved forward. The fair-haired, beautiful sister and 
daughter became to her a living presence and unconsciously 
her soul began to yearn with a mighty yearning for the child 
of that other woman. 

As in a dream she heard the words, “ that man is your- 
self,” and at the scene that followed, her head was laid upon 
the shoulder of her son, as his strong arm went out and 
around her. 

At that, the voice of the narrator nearly broke and 
stopped, then after an almost imperceptible pause, he con- 
tinued. As he repeated the words, “ You are my brother in 
the sight of God just as truly as if you had been made flesh 
of my flesh and blood of my blood. I am Margaret, the 
little baby Margaret that you loved so. I am the sister 
mother gave to you. You are the son God gave to her. 
You are hers, you are mine and nothing else matters,” the 
veil dropped from her eyes and she saw clearly now where 
she had seen only dimly before. The words, “ God’s ways 
are not as man’s ways,” came to her with a new significance 
and meaning. And as the full meaning of this wonderful 
tale became clear to her, she began to come into a clear un- 
derstanding of what it must have cost this man, Alfred Ray- 
mond, their Emperor, to give up the land and home of his 
love and come to a land and home that had but a spent and 
broken life to offer in return. 


My Land . My Country. My Home. 415 

She had fought desparately with her son when he had 
striven to throw off the worn, deadly shackles of the old and 
purposed to throw in his destinies with this man in the new. 
And in this new a woman dwelt, prepared, it seemed by 
God’s own hand, to be the mate of the highest and noblest. 
How was it he, their Emperor, had called her ? “ The sister 
of an Emperor.” Ah, was it not literally true? For did it 
not seem that this man had been peculiarly set apart and 
kept against the day when he should be brought, as it were 
by the hand of God itself, to the work prepared for him to 
do? 

“ You are hers, you are mine; I am the sister mother 
gave to you ; you are the son God gave to her.” Her vision 
suddenly became clear. She put away the arm that held her 
and rose slowly to her feet, her face lighted with a smile. 

Alfred and the Archduke rose with her. 

Turning to the Emperor she said, “ Your Majesty, you 
said that he — ” indicating her son. 

“ Is banished from our presence and from our land 
until he shall bring her, my sister, a willing and happy ran- 
som for his return to our favor,” replied Alfred. 

Slowly she turned to the Archduke John and spoke: 
“ You have heard, and if you bring not this woman to me as 
your lawfully wedded wife before God and man you are no 
true son of mine.” 


416 


My Land. My Country. My Home . 


CHAPTER XXV 

The entrance door of the old Raymond house opened 
and Margaret Raymond came out upon the old-fashioned 
“ stoop ” and stood for a moment, a distant, preoccupied 
look upon her face. 

Since coming to her father’s house and living among his 
people the strong characteristics of that splendid sect had 
come forth and clothed her as with a garment. 

Her dress of a soft, gray material, falling in simple, 
straight folds, seemed to enhance the fine curves of her slen- 
der, graceful form ; the closely fitting sleeves ending in snowy 
white bands that turned back at the shapely wrists disclosed 
hands of wonderful beauty and fairness. From her shoul- 
ders hung a long gray cloak that swept almost to her feet and 
being thrown back disclosed the white silken facing. Over 
her fair golden hair was drawn a close-fitting hood of the 
same silken-gray material as the dress and cloak, with a 
broad black satin band about the face; the gray silken ties 
of which were left to swing back over the shoulders. 

Her exquisite, madonna-like face might have served as 
a model for the face of Clotho herself, so beautiful, so ex- 
quisitely fair was she. 

Her cheeks were delicately tinted as the sweetbriar rose ; 
her eyes large, and of a deep, velvety blue, were shaded by 
long curling lashes ; her hair which she often wore in girlish 
fashion, was plaited in two great braids and hung far down 
below her waist. 

It seemed almost as if she had stepped down from some 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 417 

rare old picture of our forefathers’ days, so quaint, so deli- 
cate, so beautiful she appeared. 

With a slow, graceful step she went down the high 
steps to the garden below, when, catching the sound of a 
wagon being driven rapidly down the road, she turned to 
look. 

Standing near the rugged body of a fine old elm with the 
sunlight filtering down upon her she was indeed a picture to 
gladden the eye of man. 

At least so thought the man who had descended from 
the carriage that had stopped near the front gate. 

She had stopped to pluck a late-growing pink rose and 
that one dash of pale color against the black and white and 
gray, produced a most startling effect. 

At the sight of the man standing before her, a rose that 
vied with the rose in her hand appeared in her cheek, then 
slowly faded leaving a white one in its place. 

For a moment she was too startled to leave the place 
where she stood, then dropping the rose she held out both 
hands. 

“ You ! ” broke from her lips. 

“ I,” was the simple reply. And John of Ainhault 
bowed low and touched those beautiful hands to his lips. 

“ You have come from him? ” said she, her breath com- 
ing in little gasps. 

“ I have come from him,” was the simple reply. Before 
this slender young girl, John of Ainhault found himself al- 
most helpless and unable to do more than to repeat her words. 

“ And you bring a message? ” said she eagerly. 

“ I bring a command — ah — a — message,” stammered 
he, then stopped. 


418 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

The roses again glowed in her cheeks for he was still 
holding her hands closely clasped in his. 

Awkwardly he released them and then to hide his con- 
fusion, bent down to pick up the rose that lay at her feet. 

“ He is well? ” questioned she. 

“ He is well,” was the reply. 

John of Ainhault flushed ; never had he felt so awkward 
and uncomfortable before. In the presence of the women of 
his own land he had experienced only indifference and weari- 
ness, but in the presence of this fair-haired, beautiful girl 
he felt almost afraid. 

They had commanded him to bring this woman as a 
willing happy captive. Willing and happy. John of Ain- 
hault could scarcely repress a groan. They had commanded 
him to bring her. A dark flush rose to his face. Did they 
think that this was some prehistoric age, and that he could 
come and bear away at his sweet will ? 

All the soul of him yearned for her, cried out for her ; 
yet he was as powerless before her as if the rulers of this 
great land had been warned of his mission and had. thrown 
the entire force of their wonderful protective power about 
her. 

Now she was speaking, she was telling of the many in- 
cidents that had transpired. He was confirming them. The 
power of the press. It wAs so great, and she had read so 
eagerly, but she wanted to hear it from his own lips for he 
had been with the dearly loved one whom she still called her 
brother. 

They were seated now ; how it was accomplished he was 
not quite certain, but he could look into that beautiful face 
and so he was content. 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 419 

He had not passed a dozen words with her before new 
delights were rising up to meet him. 

Her mind was truly as beautiful as her face, but the 
daughter of such a mother, and the sister of such a brother, 
she could not be otherwise. 

“ But this command that you spoke of,” said she, “ you 
have not told me it; and from my brother; what can it be? 
Will you not tell me what it is? ” 

And immediately he fell into a great confusion. He 
rose to his feet. He would come again, that is if she would 
allow him. He must go now ; and so he tore himself away 
carrying the rose she had plucked with him. 

And he came the next day, and still many days and the 
whole story was told. Little details; half forgotten inci- 
dents, but still he would not tell of the command. 

“ What was it that caused the breach between the Em- 
peror and the Archduke Raoul, and which finally led up to 
the present situation ? ” she asked of him one day. 

“ The Emperor had commanded Raoul to be prepared 
to marry as negotiations were then under way to effect an 
alliance with another royal house,” answered he. 

“ Negotiations ! ” said she with a little shudder. “ Alli- 
ance! Why? What a very unpleasant way your people 
must have — t— ” 

“ Haven’t they,” said he interrupting her. “ And,” said 
he quite vehemently, “ it is almost as bad to-day.” 

“ Almost as bad ! ” exclaimed she. “Why what do you 
mean ? ” 

M The Emperor has commanded me to wed ” 

“ Commanded you ! To wed? ” 

“ To wed the woman he and I have ” 


420 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

“ Sir,” said she, rising to her feet and speaking sternly, 
“ do you mean to tell me that my brother would so far forget 
the training of a lifetime, as to countenance ? ” 

“ Listen ! Dear lady,” said he interrupting her as she 
was about to turn away, “ and I will try to explain. Do not 
go, but hear me out.” 

Slowly she sank into her seat with half averted face. 

“ Go on,” said she, “ I will listen.” 

At which he related to her the interview that had taken 
place between the Emperor and himself, finishing with that 
last command of the Emperor and his mother, yet without 
having given any inkling as to whom the women might be. 

“ And the woman,” said Margaret, “ does she know? ” 

“ No,” was the reply. 

“ Then what will you do to effect a return to your coun- 
try? You say that you are banished and that the Emperor 
requires that you bring the woman as an hostage, so to that 
end will you seize the women and bear her away? For that 
seems to be the custom of your people.” 

“No!” exclaimed he, “a thousand times, no!” For 

if she come not to me freely, willingly, of her love for 
»» 

me 

“ Do’st think that she will come unasked, sir? ” was the 
rather startling and disconcerting question. 

He looked at her with amazement, but her face was 
averted. 

“ No,” said he in answer to her query. 

“ Then you have already asked her? Or,” as he shook 
his head negatively, “ your ambassadors have already waited 
upon her and expressed the wishes of the Emperor and 
yourself, in the great honor conferred by you upon her?” 


My Lend. My Country . My Home. 


421 


“ No! No! ” he exclaimed quite vehemently. “ Neither 
the Emperor or myself would approve of any such barbar- 
ous acts; and I am here as my own ambassador to plead 
my own cause with the woman that I love. ,, 

“ Here ! ” said she in a startled tone of voice. But/* 
resumed she proudly and firmly, her face pale, “ the princes 
of a royal house do not wed with the daughters of the 
American people, nor do the true women of America sell 
their birthright for a * mess of pottage/ ” 

“ True, dearest lady,” said he, “ and if she come not to 
me as my lawfully wedded wife before, God and man, John 
of Ainhault will go alone and unwed to his grave.” 

“ And this woman,” said she speaking low, “ tell 'me of 
her.” 

“ She came before me as an angel of mercy and light,” 
John of Ainhault was pleading his own cause now and with 
the scene which he was portraying before him, he needed no 
ambassador. “ Stopping not to consider her own sorrow and 
loss, she gave fully and freely of herself and her great love 
to comfort and succor another ; and I looking, saw and loved 
this woman as methinks man never loved woman before. 
With her would be Heaven upon earth, without her will all 
be dark and cold and despair. Miss Raymond, Margaret,” 
said he, unable longer to restrain the great emotion that mas- 
tered him, “ I am only a poor stumbler at the best ; honeyed 
phrases halt but lamely upon my lips, my tongue stammers 
but poorly and I can only say, I love you. Will you be my 
wife?” 

“ I ! ” said she. “ It is I you are commanded to bring 
as ” 

“ A willing and happy ransom,” interrupted he catching 


42 2 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

her hands and drawing her up to him. “ Margaret, my pearl 
among women, will you look into my eyes and tell me that 
you do not love me? Ah, the look there/’ said he, “has 
given the answer your lips refuse to speak.” 

A beautiful smile irradiated her exquisite face as she 
murmured, “ You are banished, sir, and I could not think to 
keep you an exile from your home.” 

John Raymond performed the most graceful and gra- 
cious act of his whole life when, after the civil ceremony that 
the Archduke had insisted upon had been performed, the 
little company had assembled in the quaint, old-fashioned 
parlor where Friend Nathan Arnold recited the simple ser- 
vice that wed his daughter Margaret to the Archduke of 
Ainhault. 

At the words “ Who gives this woman away ? ” he asked 
Jim and Mary Beaton to stand in the place of himself and 
the mother who had gone on before and do this for her and 
themselves. 

Before the great liner steamed into port, John of Ain- 
hault asked his beautiful young wife to put on the same gar- 
ments she had worn when he saw her first in her father’s 
garden. 

The Archduchess Miriam met them at the great en- 
trance, she had dismissed all of the attendants and with her 
own fair hands opened the door to admit the wife of her son. 
Long and earnestly she gazed into the fair face before her, 
then in like manner as she had opened her home she opened 
the door of her heart as she took that slender, gray-clad 
figure in close embrace. 

A little later the Emperor came, but only the man 
Alfred Raymond went in to the young Archduchess ; when 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 423 

they returned to the others, there were traces of tears upon 
her face, while under the grand gray eyes of the man, rested 
that shadow like a bruise upon the fair flesh. 

Years rolled on and the cup of John of Ainhault seemed 
full to overflowing. His fair young wife was indeed a bless- 
ing. Four beautiful sons she bore him, and the people 
idolized her almost as much as they did their Emperor. 

One day someone asked the second boy, whom they had 
called for his father, whom he loved the most, his father or 
his mother, or what was the difference between his father 
and his mother? “ Well,” was the reply, “ father, well he's 
a splendid fellow, and he's father; but mother, well, she’s 
mother.” And the question was answered. 

Love for woman never entered the heart of Alfred Ray- 
mond, the Emperor; all the heart of him seemed to have 
gone into the grave with his foster-mother. 

He was a being set apart, for as love begets love, so the 
love this people had given to his mother, the noble Charlotte, 
seemed now transferred to her son, and so the nation became 
his bride. For her he wrought and strove and in time he 
won her, won her through the power of love, for love lifts 
and moves the great universe, levels all ranks, lifts all bur- 
dens and carries us onward, upward to the perfect love itself. 

“ Though now we see as through a glass, darkly, yet 
comes there a day when we shall see face to face; though 
now we know but in part, then shall we know, even as we 
are known.” 


424 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 


EPILOGUE 

Moonlight white and clear bathed all the scene in a pure, 
opaline light. 

Against the deep, velvety blackness of the woods, the 
snow gleamed frostily white. 

Within the sitting room of the old Beaton home all was 
peace and quiet. 

Time with his relentless march had laid his frosty hand 
upon Jim Beaton’s head, and the locks above his ruddy face 
sparkled in the glow of the firelight almost as the hoar-frost 
without in the moonlight. 

His splendid figure still retaining its wonderful vigor 
and strength, resembled nothing so much as some grand old 
oak that has come at last to full and mellow perfection. 

Mary Beaton was the same sweet, comely woman whom 
we first knew; only a little more ample. Her pale yellow 
hair, streaked with gray, still curled and nestled about her 
face, making her look, as she said, “ perfectly silly.” Dressed 
in a neat black dress with a knit collar pinned with an old- 
fashioned brooch-pin that had been her mother’s, she was 
indeed good and comfortable to look upon. 

“ Guess you must be ’xpectin’ comp’ny, haint you 
mother? ” said Jim. 

“ Comp’ny! No. Why ?” asked she. 

“ Y’u seem t’ be quite dressed up,” was the reply. 

“ Just slipped in this old bomb’zine dress, I don’t call 
this much dres’d up. ’s fur ’s comp’ny’s concerned, guess 
there won’t be any one stirrin’ out t’night,” said she. 


My Land. My Country. My Home 425 

“ ’ tis purty tol’ble smart,” was his reply in reference to 
the weather. 

Mary Beaton knitted away in silence for some minutes 
while Jim slowly perused his paper. 

Presently through the keen, frosty silence came the 
sound of sleigh-bells. 

“ Somebody’s movin’,” said he, laying down his paper 
and leaning forward to listen. 

Through the keen, frosty air the sharp clash of bells 
was greatly intensified. 

Clearly they could hear the rapid beat of the iron-shod 
hoofs upon the hard icy road. 

“ Why ! They’re stoppin’ here ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Bea- 
ton. 

After a moment they could hear the firm tread of some 
one approaching the house by the side path, every step ring- 
ing out clear by the sharp crunch upon the frosty path. 

“ Wonder who it can be? ’’said she as Jim Beaton laid 
aside his spectacles and started for the door. 

As he made his way through the dim old inner hall, he 
could hear the footsteps approaching the side door, then 
shortly someone rapped. 

Opening the door he saw a tall, heavily coated man 
standing before him who asked in a low voice if, “ Mr. 
James Beaton still lived there?” 

“ He does,” was the reply. “ Won’t you come in ? ” 

The stranger stepped inside and after Mr. Beaton had 
closed the door, followed him as he returned to the sitting 
room. 

Mary Beaton remained seated, her work held half sus- 


426 My Land. My Country. My Home. 

pended in her hand, and looked eagerly toward the two men 
as they entered the room. 

That the stranger was tall, almost as tall as Jim, she 
could see, but his heavy collar was still drawn well up, al- 
most to the fur cap which he had not yet removed, also a 
heavy paper shade was upon the lamp so that the man’s face 
remained in a deep gloom. 

The stranger, turning half away, loosed his great coat and 
dropped it upon a chair, then he drew off the cap and laid it 
upon the coat. 

As he turned toward her Mary Beaton lifted her hand to 
lay her work upon the table ; as she did so it struck against 
the lamp-shade and tipped it sharply up, thereby causing the 
full light of the lamp to fall upon the man. 

Grasping the arms of her chair tightly she sat spell- 
bound. Where had she seen that face before? That mass 
of golden-brown hair, now so tossed and disordered from the 
wrench of the cap ? 

Somewhere she remembered a richly glowing, boyish 
face crowned with wind-tossed hair, now she was looking 
into a pair of grand, golden-gray eyes, and the look there 
was the look of the star-eyed child who had lain upon her 
heart years and years ago. The smile that met her startled 
questioning gaze was the smile of the boy whose rich laugh- 
ter had left a strain of music in her soul that never would 
end. 

“ Jim ! Jim ! ” cried she shrilly as she sprang to her feet. 
“ It’s Alfred ! Alfred Raymond ! Boy ! Boy ! called she 
as she flung herself forward into the arms held out to her, 
her lips refusing further speech. 

Jim Beaton grew slowly white beneath the tan of his 


My Land. My Country. My Home. 427 

ruddy face as the truth came slowly home to him. Upon his 
great heart, within his mighty arms he felt again the ecstatic 
quiver of a little boyish form ; then he stepped forward and 
folded them both to him and his mild blue eyes filled with 
tears as his face pressed against that mass of golden-brown 
hair; and though from his lips there came no speech, from 
his great heart there went up a prayer of thanksgiving, that 
God had heard and had brought back the feet that had made 
glad music, once more. For the little frail hands of their 
soul-child had reached out, out across the great sea, and, by 
the power of love, had drawn &nd drawn, and the little bared, 
white, dew-kissed feet had led and led, until they led the 
child-man, Alfred Raymond, into His Land, His Country, 
His Home, into The Kingdom of Love. 



MY LAND. 
MY COUNTRY. 
MY HOME. 


Price $1.35 Postpaid 
MAIL ORDERS ONLY 


ADDRESS 

C. F. WILLIAMS & SON 


36 Beaver St. 


Albany, N.Y. 








S»cssss“ 

MAR 1996 

OOKKEEPER 

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